


and oh, poor atlas

by sleeponrooftops



Series: how big, how blue, how beautiful [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Language, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their first year of interplanetary space travel to reach Europa, the Icarus team encounter Mars, asteroid debris, and a connection none of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes —
> 
> i. Same rules apply as before. See previous fic for series notes.
> 
> ii. I have music recommendations if you want, as well. I listened mostly to the _Guardians of the Galaxy_ soundtrack while writing this. And Florence and the Machine, but that’s always happening.
> 
> iii. I’m a structure idiot. It’s literally one of my favorite things to play with. I kept going back and forth about how I wanted to post this, and I kept wanting to post the travel bits in chapters because I think they’re even more fun when you read it all not together. So then, brain says, hey, let’s just cram all the years into one, but my little writing soul feels like they’re big milestones, you know, a year in space, woah, two years in space, _woah_ , three years in space, _WOAH_. You get my drift. (Oh man, aside: I’m absolutely writing a starbucks Pacific Rim!AU SOMEDAY. IT WILL HAPPEN. LOL, I ALREADY STARTED IT A LONG TIME AGO.) Basically, still five parts, but the middle three will be chaptered. I haven’t decided about the third yet. We’ll see what happens when I start writing it.

_February 9, 2072_

_Icarus_

_0700 hours_

They’ve been out of Earth’s orbit and in actual space for a little over a month, and Peter’s not sure if he’s ever going to _not_ be excited about seeing his home from this vantage point.  It’s growing smaller, as is to be expected, but it’s still fairly large, and he just— _loves it_.

 

Growing up, he never expected he would reach this point.  He spent most of his youth haunting scrap yards and flea markets, trying to piece together workable equipment.  His free time was devoted to extra homework and formulas that his aunt simply laughed at.  By the time he reached high school, however, his guidance counselor was starting to talk about graduating early, and then, when they were all asking him what he wanted to be, and when he said an astronaut, they stopped believing in him.

 

“Astronauts aren’t a thing anymore, Peter,” his aunt had said sadly to him, squeezing his shoulder, but he wouldn’t believe it.

 

“Mark Watney did something incredible,” Peter had said firmly, every time, “We’re not going to hide from space forever just because his research was the result of something awful.  We’re going back up there.”

 

And now, here he was, looking at _Earth_.  From _space_.  He’d watched the moon’s orbit last night, but the sun has begun to rise, and he’s since stopped looking for it.  Peter sighs, eating more of his oatmeal even as he says, “Shut up, Johnny.”

 

“Dude, you’re so lame,” Johnny says, dumping down next to him with dried apple slices in hand, “Are you going to eat breakfast in the observation room every morning?”

 

“Why not?” Peter says, not looking away from Earth, “It’s beautiful.”

 

“Until there’s nothing but space,” Johnny says, “Then it might be a little terrifying.”

 

“Or awesome,” Peter says, stealing one of his apple slices.

 

They sit in silence for a while, just watching the world go by, until Johnny slaps his leg and says, “Wanna come check for breaches with me?”

 

“Maybe in a bit,” Peter says, finally tearing his eyes away to look over at Johnny, “I’ll meet you halfway.”

 

Johnny rolls his eyes and grumbles, but he leaves without Peter nonetheless.  It’s not long before Tony finds him, handing him over a water as he drops down into the seat next to him.  “How’s Earth?” he asks even though he knows.

 

“Still spinning,” Peter says even though he can’t really see that.  “Do you think they can see us?” he asks.  He knows the answer to this, but he likes Tony’s better.

 

“Parker, I designed Icarus’s hull to be the most obnoxious spacecraft ever.  Mars can probably see us.”

 

“T-minus 162 days until flyby.  Approximately,” he adds.  Bucky had made a face of utter lack of belief a few days ago when he’d made this comment, and he’s still sour about it.

 

“We should be getting a media dump today,” Tony says, glancing at his watch, “Probably around lunchtime.  Are you expecting anything?”

 

Peter shrugs.  “My aunt said she would check in, but she’s not really on board with the whole—astronaut thing.”

 

“Seriously?” Tony says, looking over at him, “I’d imagined she would be over the moon about it.  Oh.  Ha.  That was funny.”  Tony laughs softly, and Peter looks away from Earth and to him.

 

“Wow, yeah, you’re way worse than I am.”  Tony knocks his shoulder against Peter’s, who smiles and turns back to Earth.  He shrugs again.  “She’s just—she didn’t really believe it was ever going to happen, and she thought I was wasting my time even pursuing a career in biophysics.  She just about had a cow when I said I was signing up for astronaut training the semester before I applied for this.”

 

“And now?”

 

“She was upset the last time I saw her.  I mean, we talked on the phone a few days before the launch, and it was great, but I think she just wasn’t ready to let me go for six years.  Shit, when I get back, I’ll be in my thirties.  She said she was hoping I would be married and have kids before then.  Guess not now.”

 

“Yeah, no babies in space, please,” Tony says, “Wrap that shit up.”

 

“Tony,” Peter groans, leaning into him, “I’m really not into girls.  That’s the other half of the argument she doesn’t like.”

 

“Really?” Tony says, brightening, “I knew you and Storm had a thing.”

 

“We don’t—we’re just—what?” Peter splutters, gaping at him.

 

“Cool it, kid.  Your secret crush is safe with me.”  Tony gets up, laughing as Peter scrambles to follow, leaving Earth behind.

 

The ship starts to wake up as her team starts moving, beginning their morning tasks and nodding sleepily at one another.  And then, a collective groan is heard as the first text is sent out.  Over the two years during training, Peter had worked relentlessly during his limited spare time to work out a hack that would allow their verbal comms to allow text alerts.  Everyone wears an earpiece that keeps them in contact, as well as is available at any time to pull up schematics and reports, but now, he’s installed a group chat function.

 

Steve had steadfastly refused to use it until they were mostly all using it without him, and then they were all on it after a week.  NASA tried their damndest to be angry with Peter, but the science was excellent enough that they just sighed at him.

 

Tony pulls it up as he and Peter part, the latter heading off to inspect for breach potentials and the former for the operations console.

 

_Sam: I want pizza so bad, guys._

_Bucky: Honestly.  Don’t.  I will rip your spine out._

_Sam: Jeeee-sus._

_Bucky: Pineapple and pepper and sausage pizza, oh man.  I’d murder for that._

_Sam: Clearly._

_Sam: Hey, asswipe, get away from my consoles._

_Tony: Stop abusing the video comms, or I’ll whoop your ass in darts again._

_Natasha: Next time, we’re bringing Clint, and he’ll annihilate all of you._

_Tony: I just can’t imagine no sex for six and a half years.  How are you going to survive, Nat?_

_Natasha: Well, there was this study that came out a few decades ago, it was about something called self control or whatever._

_Tony: Har har._

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says, dropping into a seat next to Steve, “What’s shaking?”

 

“Good morning, Tony,” Steve says softly as he continues sorting through the reports from last night.  Tony taps into the dashboard and throws the weather up onto the front windshield, reading through it quickly.  He sends Jarvis into a cursory systems check after.  He’s always monitoring it regardless, but he’s finally agreed with Steve that a full check every morning is to their benefit.

 

They sit in companionable silence, which Steve doesn’t like to admit he’s coming to enjoy.  It’s become a sort of routine between them.  In about six minutes, Tony will get up, always restless, and wander off for twenty minutes before returning with tea.  Steve is usually done with his reports by then, and sometimes they’ll talk about nothing, but more often than not, they just enjoy the presence of someone else.

 

When Tony gets back this time, Steve is still going through one of the reports, and he doesn’t notice the tea Tony is holding out until he taps it against Steve’s arm.  “Oh,” Steve says, looking up, “Thanks.  Hey, check this out.”

 

He flicks the report up onto the windshield, studying Tony’s face as he reads through it.  “That’s going to be awesome,” Tony says finally, grinning as he looks over at Steve, “Sam thinks it’ll fly by that close?”

 

“Enough that we’ll feel it a little.  It’s concerning more than awesome, I think.”

 

“Don’t worry, Icarus is made of some of the toughest shit I could find.  She’ll be fine.”  Tony rubs a thumb over the dash adoringly, and Steve decides it’s a battle he doesn’t feel like starting right now.  Instead, he leans back into his seat and watches space go by, Tony falling quiet next to him.

 

——

 

_February 17, 2072_

_1100 hours_

_Wanda: Does anyone else find it strange that we haven’t renamed the months yet?_

The air smells like grass.  It’s not something Wanda thought she would ever be able to smell in space, but here in her greenroom, it smells like she’s back home, lying in a field with Pietro’s fingers brushing against hers.  His last video had been a sad one—their mother is sick, and neither of them think that Wanda will be home before she goes.  She tries not to think about it often.  After only a month, she can’t miss home this badly, not yet.  But it hurts, deep in her bones.  Every time she thinks about Pietro, she wants to cry.

 

And so, instead, she’s left contemplating the names of the months while she checks on her plants.  They’re flourishing here, and though they’re mostly just sprouts right now, she has dreams about what they will become.  They’ll provide so much food for them, as well, fresh and delicious and nothing anyone has ever attempted and succeeded at before.  She will not be as well known as growing potatoes on Mars, but she will have grown a small farm in space.

 

_Natasha: Aside from the last four, I’m okay with most of them._

_Natasha: Last six, let’s be honest._

_Bucky: Those damn pretentious douchebags naming months after themselves._

_Natasha: She totally has a point.  I mean, October, really?  Eighth month?  That’s the best we could come up with?_

_Wanda: It just makes sense that we might have made them something more, after we’ve seen so much._

_Bucky: Or so little._

_Sam: Next mission—Kepler._

_Steve: God, no._

Wanda laughs as several of her teammates respond with a rousing, _Steve_!  He doesn’t usually join in on the conversations, and it always makes her smile when he does.

 

_Steve: Do you guys realize how far away Kepler is?_

_Johnny: Okay, riddle me this, Stark._

_Tony: Shit, give me, like—twenty minutes._

_Johnny: Ten._

There’s no response, and Wanda considers it a morning well started.  No one had said anything earlier, and it was starting to feel too quiet in her head.  She spends the next thirteen minutes taking samples, and then Tony is back.

 

_Tony: Yeah, I can’t get it down below 20 million years.  I’ll need more time, torch._

_Johnny: See you at dinner.  The race is on._

_  
Steve: Please don’t forget to check that engine, Johnny._

_Johnny: Is it still kerunking?  Is that the sound word you used?  I slept like a fucking baby last night._

_Steve: Check your reports.  This is not a work chat._

That just opens the floodgates, and then a whole manner of ridiculous texts are coming through, so Wanda closes the alert and saves them for later.  She taps the scanner to her lab door with her elbow and takes her samples inside.  When they’d first been allowed onboard Icarus, they had been given free range to come back to Tony with any reasonable adjustments they’d wanted made.  Hers was to include prints of her elbows for the thermal scanners since her hands were always occupied.

 

Natasha and Betty are inside, though they’re both on Betty’s side, heads bent together as they observe something on a slide.  Wanda waves in greeting before she starts upending her samples onto her desk.  It’s cluttered with pictures, dirt, and elephants in varying sizes, but it feels a little closer to home this way.

 

She spends the morning going through her samples until Natasha’s tugging her away for lunch, which she scarfs down before heading back to the lab.  She really only enjoys eating dinner with the team, and would rather spend the rest of her time in here.

 

“Hey,” Steve’s voice drifts over to her, soft and warm, a few hours later.

 

Wanda flashes him a brilliant smile before turning back to her scope.  “Come look at this,” she says into the scope before she steps back.

 

He obliges, and though she’s not actually sure if he knows what he’s seeing, he always humors her.  She’s watched him do so similarly with the rest of the team, as well, and she definitely knows he’s just nodding along when Peter starts babbling.

 

“Looks like they’re coming along well,” Steve says, surprising her a little.

 

“They’re beautiful.  Have you been inside recently?”

 

He shakes his head, so Wanda leads him away from her desk and over toward the lab door, pushing it open into the greenroom.  Steven immediately looks more at peace than anywhere else on the ship, and she makes a mental note to ask him in more often.

 

“We should start seeing some vegetables before the end of the year,” Wanda says, leading him over to a section that’s a little wilder with growth, “Though the fruits will take longer.”

 

“Still,” Steve says, his gaze moving around the room slowly, “This is incredible.  You’re flourishing.  Better than NASA expected, I think.”

 

“I love rocks, but plants are so much more fun,” Wanda says, smiling when Steve laughs.

 

——

 

_February 27, 2072_

_1700 hours_

There’s a lot of blood.

 

Tony’s never seen so much blood come out of such a little cut.  “Shee-yit,” Johnny says when he sees it, “Seriously?”

 

“I don’t understand,” Tony whines, holding his hand up in the air as it continues to well and spill down his arm, “I barely touched it.”

 

“I told you it was sharp, dumbass.  Come on.”

 

“I’m not an invalid,” Tony snaps, stepping away from him, “I know where Bruce is.”

 

Two minutes later, Johnny cackles when he hears Tony’s voice drift over the comms, “Bruce, where are you?”

 

“Busy.”

 

“There’s a lot of blood coming out of me right now.”

 

“Tony,” Steve sighs, “What happened?”

 

“Not important.  _Bruce_.”

 

“Seriously, before he starts whining,” Natasha cuts across.

 

There’s silence, and Tony pauses in the hall, waiting.  “I’ll meet you in the infirmary.”

 

“Bruce, you sound funny.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“Get some!”

 

Johnny’s cackle drifts a little louder, and Tony grins before heading off for the medical bay.  When he gets there, Bruce is banging around, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and Tony gives one of his curls a tug before hopping up onto a seat.

 

“Oh,” Bruce says when he turns, “Yeah, that is—okay—what the hell did you do?”

 

“We were fixing something.”

 

“Looks more like you were breaking something,” Bruce mutters darkly, starting to sponge away the blood, “Damn it.”

 

“There is no way that requires stitches,” Tony says, slack-jawed.

 

“Maybe if you weren’t so inconsiderate,” Bruce says, flicking the injured finger so that Tony hisses at him, recoiling.  Bruce goes to collect supplies while Tony glares at him.

 

He looks away, and almost grins when he sees Steve pushing open the door to the med bay.  “Everything okay?” he asks, not coming in all the way.

 

“Checking up on me now, Rogers?” Tony quips.

 

His eyes narrow a little, and then he’s gone.  Tony watches him go, frowning.  “Stop that,” Bruce says when he comes back over.

 

“Stop what?”

 

“Stop thinking about him naked.”

 

“I was—not.  I had to check.  I was not,” Tony says.  When Bruce lifts an eyebrow, he continues, “I mean, I have, but I wasn’t, currently.  I was just—” Tony flaps a hand in the direction of the door as though that explains it, and really, Bruce is so well-versed in his body language that it does.

 

“I thought you hated him.”

 

“That was so _Earth_ , Bruce.”

 

Bruce smirks at his finger.

 

“I don’t know,” Tony sighs, “He’s not as intellectually frustrating as I thought he was.  Plus, he got excited about the meteor shower that we flew by, and I dunno.”  Tony scrunches up his nose—he hates feelings, in all shapes and forms.  “Plus,” he goes on, “he’s aesthetically pleasing.”

 

Bruce’s next insertion with the needle is less than kind.

 

Tony does not grab a curl, though he throws as much heat behind his glare as possible.

 

“Please don’t sleep with him,” Bruce says finally.

 

Tony sighs.

 

“Tony,” Bruce says, looking up at him.  He sees something he’s not sure he recognizes on his best friend’s face, and it gives him pause.  His next request changes, “Please be kind to him, at least.  I like him,” he adds as he returns to Tony’s finger.

 

Tony pointedly does not agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, _hi_. So I decided, randomly, to change up the flow of things. I also just decided when I was trying to figure out what I wanted to put in the first chapter that I'm separating the chapters by months. Which, okay, I understand that they wouldn't be following the months, but it's _so much math_ to do sols or something else, so I'm sticking with a regular Earth calendar. Chapters by months might be a tiny bit problematic, as I'm only on month six right now, but we'll get there eventually. It'll be fantastic. Also, this means that chapter length will vary. Sometimes, they'll be really long (month six is going to be), and sometimes, they'll be a breeze (month four is hella short), but I think this also works like log entries (coughthemartiancough), so yeah. Space.
> 
> So, this is it, this is the beginning of the adventure, I'm so freaking excited! If you guys aren't already, you should totally follow my [space au](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/tagged/space-au) tag on my tumblr, which I've just linked there, because I've just been randomly rambling about the nonsense that is going into this fic, like why the Peter Parker/Wanda Maximoff tag was added in the first place. Literally, who even knows what I'm doing anymore? NOT ME. On that same vein, though, I asked a question on Tumblr that I'm going to also now ask here. Is there anything you guys are just absolutely itching to see in an Avengers space au? I tried searching for some fics on here, and on Tumblr, and really just came up blank, so if you're like, _oh my god, give me aliens_ , don't worry, it's never happening. Keep in mind that superhusbands is end game, but it doesn't really happen until year two, so we've got a whole year left to play with if you want something crazy to happen with them, individually, before then. Or, maybe you're just really passionate about Peter absolutely geeking out about doing a Mars flyby--don't worry, I'm about to write it. Whatever you are pining for desperately in an Avengers space au, let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Plus, I like ideas. I planned out the whole first year, but I'm always game to add more.
> 
> One last thing! I know that romance is super fun, and you're all probably very excited about superhusbands in space, and so am I, but guys. _Space_. Not just space, but _interplanetary space travel_. To fucking _Europa_. I'm a lot more excited about this, and so while I will definitely be focusing on superhusbands, it's only half the focus and not really what the story is about in the end. It doesn't even matter. Ha. Point if you understood that. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their third month of travel, two members of the Icarus crew lose all privileges, duties, and access after a dangerous stunt.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: anthonystark]_

_[password: warmachineroxxx]_

_Message Subject: how’s space, asshole?_

“Is this thing on?”  Rhodey taps the screen, and Tony laughs at the same time as Rhodey grins.  God, he misses him.  “Hey shithead,” Rhodey says, sitting back, “Yes, I’m in your lab.”  He spins in Tony’s chair back on Earth, letting out a ridiculous noise as he does.  When he comes back around, he kicks his feet up on the desk and says, “Jane thought it would be a good idea to dump all of your unfinished projects on me, of course, so now I’ve been—well, sitting on my ass watching shitty TV, pretty much.  I’m not going to tell you about the fact that I’ve been watching the most asinine space movies because that would just let you know how fucking worried I am.”

 

Rhodey sighs, reaching up a hand to flip off the camera even as Tony laughs softly.  “Shut up,” he says, “I miss you like crazy, man.  It’s so much quieter around here, and it sucks.  There’s no one to laugh at my awful jokes.  And I know it’s lame to watch bad space movies, but if I watch the good ones, then I think about all the things that could possibly go wrong, so instead I’m just going to pretend that you’re about to encounter aliens.  _God_ , I hope you don’t actually encounter aliens.  That would be so annoying.  I will literally never stop hearing about it.  It’ll be like your first engine up to the moon all over again.  Speaking of, how’s Cap?  I know you guys were starting to figure out how to be in the same room, so here’s hoping that you’ve figured out a lot more than that.  I—what?”

 

Rhodey breaks off, and Tony watches him look to the side as the door opens.

 

“No, I’m busy,” he says, and then there’s an indistinct murmur before he shakes his head and says, “No, I’m leaving a message for Tony.  It’ll have to wait.”

 

Tony hears the man’s voice as it gets closer, “We need you to sign off on these schematics.”

 

“Dude, fuck off, seriously,” Rhodey says, “This is more important.”  Without waiting for a response, Rhodey turns back to Tony and says, “I have signed more things in your name in the last two months than I’ve ever signed anything for myself in a decade.  I know, not as cool as you,” he says, waving a hand, and then he seems to notice the man hasn’t left because he says, “ _Go away._ ”

 

“Sir—”

 

“Yeah, definitely not sir.  Look, I’m talking to your boss right now, and he’s going to have a few choice words for you in his return message if you don’t kindly fuck off.”  Tony can almost see the man blink at Rhodey because then he heaves a sigh and says, “I’m not getting out of this one, it seems.  Listen, I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?  Don’t you dare take a long time to respond, or I’ll come up there and get you.  Just—be safe, okay?  I need you to come home.  I love you, Tony.”

 

As the screen goes black, Tony’s left with a last image of Rhodey smiling at him, and then he’s gone, and Tony presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 

——

 

_March 4, 2072_

_2400 hours_

“Stop fidgeting,” Steve says, and Tony almost, _almost_ , yelps when he tugs on his ear.

 

“I can’t believe this is how my Friday night is going.”

 

Steve allows himself a soft smile because Tony can’t see him, and then he tilts his head forward again and carefully begins buzzing the undercut.  Steve’s hand is pinned around his head, fingers spread wide across his jaw and the side of his face, thumb pressing down through the always messy hair at the top, and Tony relaxes under his touch.  His shoulders sink down, and Steve absolutely does not rub a circle with his thumb.

 

Tony hums quietly.

 

“Okay, let’s see,” Steve says after he’s cleaned him up and stepped back.  Tony turns to him, making a face.  “Looks good.”  He’s out of his chair faster than Steve can blink, sauntering over to the mirror to check, and Steve cleans up the chair and area while he checks himself out.

 

“Alright, muscles,” Tony says easily, “I guess you can stay.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve says, grinning, “That’s kind of you.  And who were you going to vote off the island to take my place?”

 

“Pretty sure voting them _off_ the island puts them in the same place as you, but semantics,” Tony says, and his smirk is deadly.

 

Steve checks himself, looks away as he puts away his tools.  Tony catches on, but doesn’t say anything, instead reprimands himself mentally even as he crosses the room back to Steve.  “You going to sleep anytime soon?” Tony asks.

 

Steve wants to say no, and that’s probably what scares him the most, and so he says, “Yeah.  Insomnia ran away.”  He knocks a knuckle against his head, and then he’s gone.

 

Tony’s jaw works, teeth grinding together.  This is several levels of not okay.

 

——

 

_March 10, 2072_

_0900 hours_

 

Steve starts avoiding him.  It happens slowly, but it happens nonetheless.  He puts the distance that was there before back in place, and Tony weighs the options of telling him what a giant fucking turd he’s being or just leaving well alone, and Bruce convinces him of the boring one.

 

Steve is all kinds of proud of Tony for not calling him out on hiding, but he can never find the right words to make it sound less ridiculous, so he never tells him.  His mornings grow cold, a different kind of quiet settling until he starts leaving for his duties as soon as he’s finished reading through the reports.

 

However, it’s starting to build up inside of him, and so he needs to find some way to release some of this tension.  He finds Bucky openly arguing with Peter, and Steve frowns at the anger that’s inflicting his features, eyebrows pulling tight together as he throws out a hand, fingers straight and firm.

 

“You can’t just rip a whole into the side of the fucking ship, Peter,” he says hotly, and then Steve sees what he’s pointing toward.

 

 _He_  knows what Peter is working on, and so he starts to come to his defense when Peter says, “I didn’t rip a whole in the side of the fucking ship, thank you very much.  There is an electrical current that’s being disturbed on this side of Icarus, and I am  _trying_  to figure out where it’s at its worst so Tony can fix it.”

 

“So you decided to just tear out some chunks of metal?”

 

“Okay, really, it’s not just metal, and no, douche canoe, I carefully removed it and will put it back exactly how I found it when we’re done.”

 

“Douche canoe?” Bucky repeats, and Steve steps in when he sees Bucky’s shoulder go high, the tips of his ears getting red.

 

“Alright,” Steve says sharply, quickly stepping between them.  “Peter,” he directs his attention to Peter, who has the foresight to look abashed, “Explain yourself without insulting, or I’m going to start separating you and Tony.”

 

He waits, and Peter sighs.  “I’m sorry, Bucky.  That was uncalled for.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve says before he can speak, “Don’t just come at him.  If you see something you don’t understand, ask.”

 

Bucky takes a few moments longer, glaring at Steve’s arm, but then he deflates.  “I’m sorry, Peter.  I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

 

“Thank you.  Now,” he lowers his voice as he directs his attention to Bucky, “Can I borrow you?”

 

Peter gets the hint and goes back to his wall while Bucky looks up at him curiously, nodding before he starts walking away.  Steve follows him, and they walk together for a while in comfortable silence, Steve leading the way until Bucky realizes where they’re going, and he starts grinning.

 

When they get into the small workout room, Bucky starts shedding layers until he’s in nothing but his navy blue sweats with the NASA logo on one thigh and wrapped hands.  Steve follows suit, stripping down to his fitted pants.

 

They circle each other at first, and Steve sees the second before Bucky starts getting cocky, and he deflects his first blow easily.  It’s a dance after that, the sound of their bodies hitting each other, quiet noises when they make contact, and then a dull thud when Steve pins Bucky to the ground.

 

“What _ever_ ,” Bucky says, pushing Steve off and jumping to his feet.

 

They go again.  They continue until Bucky is starting to knock Steve off his feet as many times as Steve is to him, and, by then, nearly an hour has passed, and they’re both feeling better.  When they’re done with a few cool down stretches, Bucky asks, “How’ve you been sleeping?”

 

Steve shrugs one shoulder.  “Fine.  Better some nights, worse some nights.  There’s no real middle ground.”

 

“And you thought being away from the noise would help.”

 

“Turns out there’s just as much noise in space.”  His phone buzzes from across the room to prove his point.  “I’m starting to think the group chat was a bad idea,” he says as it continues to buzz.

 

“Or the fact that you allowed him to install a hack into NASA’s freaking comms.  Okay, that’s a little excessive,” he adds when it keeps happening.

 

Steve hauls himself to his feet and goes over to their pile of clothes, digging out his phone.  He starts reading, gets to the third message, and growls, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

 

It takes them four minutes to get to the flight deck, and they’re running.  Johnny is at one of the windows, grinning like he’s the one outside, ignoring Wanda as she shouts at him to stop, and Sam is yelling back and forth with Peter inside one of the docking rooms.  Bucky quickly relieves Peter, and then Johnny is letting out a yelp of surprise as Steve jerks him away from the window and slams him against the opposite wall.

 

“Did you help him?” Steve seethes.

 

“Dude, come on, that’s so—”

 

“Do I look like someone you should call dude?” Steve roars, “Do you know what you two have just done?”

 

“Steve,” Johnny says, looking a little nervous, “It’s just a spacewalk.”

 

“Which are meant for repairs, study, and  _Europa_ , Johnny!  This is not a game!”

 

“Steve,” he says, straightening as he gathers up some of the pieces of his attitude, “Seriously.  Calm down.”

 

Steve thinks about hitting him, hears Bucky say, “save it for the asshole,” and instead steps back.  Johnny looks like he’s won something until Steve reaches forward and rips the patch from the front of his jacket, and then he’s just left staring at Steve in horror.

 

“You can’t—”

 

“I can,” Steve says, “You are hereby relieved of duties until we can come to a decision with what to do with you.”

 

“Steve!”

 

“You’ve lost that right, as well.  It’s captain to you.”

 

Fury sparks in Johnny’s eyes, but he swallows down whatever nasty thing he wants to spit, and instead nods once, curt.  “Captain,” he says before he turns on his heel and stalks away.

 

Steve switches the frequency on his comm until he finds Tony’s voice, and listens to him say, “Wait, why are you pulling me back?”

 

“Get him in safely,” Steve says, and he can practically feel Tony’s smug grin.

 

It melts the second he’s back inside, helmet off and the rest of the suit on, when Steve steps into the docking room and says, “You are hereby relieved of duties and confined to quarters until we can come to a decision with what to do with you.”

 

“What the fuck!” Tony explodes.

 

Steve lets his anger loose for a breath, and Tony would have toppled over, in full suit, if Bucky hadn’t been anticipating Steve’s fist, and he digs his feet into the ground, holding Tony up from behind.

 

Tony gapes at him.

 

“You will give Bucky your comms, phone, and laptop before you are left alone to await your fate.”

 

“Let me guess, you’re reading Johnny the riot act, too,” Tony spits at him as he turns away and heads out, “Smart move, segregating your only two engineers.”

 

Steve turns at the door, and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t have taught Peter so well.”

 

——

 

They gather after dinner, which Steve doesn’t eat.  He skips lunch, too busy smacking his fists against a bag in the workout room until Sam comes in and convinces him to take a breath and walk the ship with him.  They end up in one of Steve’s favorite rooms, with walls that change according to your mood, sounds that filter down through the ceiling, and particles shifting on the floor.  It switches immediately to an ocean when Steve comes in, waves crashing gently against the shore as the floor produces something that feels like sand, a gentle breeze sounding overhead.

 

It does wonders.  Sam sits with him, not talking, just near him, and he’s more grateful than he knows how to put into words.  When they eventually part ways, Sam squeezes his shoulder and says, “Don’t kill our engineers.  Please.  I know Peter’s smart, but he’s got the emotional range of a soap opera, and he will literally go into full blown panic, whether that’s an excited one or a terrified one, and crash us all.”

 

It pulls a small laugh from Steve, which he knows was Sam’s purpose, and then he’s heading off to find Bucky and convince him to check out the weather report he’s predicting for tomorrow.  Steve goes in the opposite direction, tapping into the comms only to say, “Nat.  Location?”

 

“Leaving the med bay.”

 

When he finds her, she’s leaning against the wall outside of the medical wing, arms folded across her chest.  “Everything okay?” Steve asks, looking her over for any injuries.

 

“Yeah,” she waves a hand at him, “Just catching up dear old granddad on our favorite child’s activities.  Any idea what you’re going to do?”

 

“We’ll discuss it after dinner.  In the meantime, can you please check on them?”

 

“Does that involve fist kissing?” she asks, quelling her interest because she knows it will make Steve angrier.

 

“Just talking, please.  We’re not fighting for our lives,” he reminds her.

 

“Just all of humanity,” Natasha calls over her shoulder as she heads off.

 

Steve thinks about it all day, and when they finally come to sit, two seats empty, he starts to feel it bubbling up again, the hot fury he’d felt when he’d first read the text, _Tony’s outside_.

 

“Facts are simple,” he says, spreading his hands, “Tony and Johnny participated in an unauthorized spacewalk.”

 

“Technically,” Bucky starts, and Steve flashes him a nod of thanks for countering his argument, “Only Tony went outside.”

 

“Johnny still helped him,” Natasha says, “He also threw a glass of water at me today while I was trying my hand at being nice, so I’m all for floating him.”

 

“ _Nat_ ,” Steve says, his voice hard, “This is a serious discussion.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, not looking at him, “Duly noted.”

 

“Be that as it may,” Betty says, “Johnny did help him.  Tony could have done it all alone, but Johnny was a willing participant.  He’s just as much as at fault.”

 

“And you have to remember who they both are,” Bruce says, withholding a sigh, “This was not someone swaying the other.  Johnny has been itching to either get outside or put someone else out there.  You can bet they were going to switch after if Wanda hadn’t seen them.”

 

“They weren’t exactly being discreet about it,” Wanda says, “I could hear Johnny hollering from the library.”

 

“We’re agreed, then,” Steve says, looking around at them, “The fault is equal.”  He waits for a raised hand from each of them, and then he continues, “Even still, I propose suspension for Johnny only.”

 

Silence settles for a breath.  And then, “You’ve got to fucking kidding me.”  Sam stares at him.  “Steve, do you know how much oxygen they wasted?  Even a slight shift in the composition of Icarus’s environment throws us a little off kilter in the long run.  Sure, we’re not going to be worrying about conserving energy just because of one spacewalk, but you have to realize this isn’t going to stop.”

 

“Which is why I am also proposing to remove Tony’s access to most of the ship until further notice, but this requires cooperation on your part, as well.”

 

He tries not to look at Bruce, but it happens anyway, and Bruce deadpans, “Do you honestly think that I would give him access to the flight deck after that stunt?  Steve, he may be my best friend, but I know how absurdly dangerous that was.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t trying to imply you would, but it was still a concern of mine.”

 

“Duly noted,” Bruce says, and it sounds a little cold.

 

“This needs to be unanimous,” Steve says, sinking back into his chair, “It is not a decision I will make without the acceptance and trust of all of you.”

 

“The ruling stands,” Bucky says, “Suspension of duties for Johnny Storm, revoked access for Tony Stark.”

 

——

 

_1630 hours_

 

He meets with Johnny first.

 

“This is bullshit,” Johnny snaps, jerking away from his bed after Steve’s finished, “You can’t just suspend me from duties indefinitely.”

 

“You aided in an unauthorized spacewalk.  You didn’t give a thought to what that might do to the ship and your teammates, what could happen to Tony if something changed in the weather or if even the smallest thing happened.  We’re in _space_ , Johnny.  This is not as easy as going inside if it starts raining.  Out there, you’re dead if you’re not careful.”

 

“Right,” Johnny says, turning on his heel to glare at Steve, “Because you’ve been outside so many times.”

 

“Johnny,” Steve sighs, lifting a hand to rub at his jaw, “Did you read up on any of us before you applied?”

 

“Yeah, you and Bucky are always skipping up to the space station, having a grand old time.  What of it?”

 

“You’re young,” Steve says, “By a decade, right?  You’re—28?”

 

“What of it?” Johnny asks, trying to mask his confusion with contempt.

 

“You were ten the first time we went back up to the moon, after Watney.  We waited almost twenty years to go back into space.”

 

“We didn’t—”

 

“We did,” Steve says, “It was my first mission.  I had barely completed training when they selected me.  They were eager to try out a piece of tech they had been testing for the last ten years, and it worked—flawlessly.  Advanced nuclear rockets,” Steve shakes his head, “We landed in six hours.”

 

“That’s impossible,” Johnny says, and then, “Unless—”

 

“Tony was already developing hardware for NASA when he was fifteen.  Five years later, they launched his first rocket into space and took it to the moon.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Johnny asks, regaining some of his earlier momentum and walking away from Steve, to the other side of his small, shared room.  He dumps onto Peter’s bed, not meeting Steve’s gaze.

 

“Jane entrusted me to select the final candidates for the Icarus team.  While she technically had final say, and the others could veto a vote, it was my word that brought you in.  Even after you crashed a flight simulator, and Jane was on the fence, I knew you would be a good choice.  Don’t disappoint me.”

 

Johnny looks like he’s going to say something damning, and then he just deflates, nodding.  “Okay.  I understand.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, “I’ll let you know when the suspension has been lifted, but you are no longer confined to quarters.”

 

He leaves, and, once outside, inhales deeply.  He’s going to need more strength than he has to talk to Tony.  When he knocks, Tony doesn’t respond, and Steve sighs, letting his forehead thud forward against the door.  He doesn’t want to do this.

 

“Tony?” he calls through the door.

 

He gets no response again, and so he tries the lock, surprised when he finds it undone.  He steps inside, a little of his fear at talking to him dissipating when he finds Tony with a pair of earphones in, typing in an unhurried manner on his tablet.  He has a hologram pulled up, of today’s incident, and he’s writing a report.

 

Steve feels like he might need to sit down.

 

Instead, he raps a knuckle against Tony’s shoulder, and then comes around into his line of vision to perch on the edge of his desk.

 

“I thought I said no technology,” he says quietly.

 

“Actually, you said to take away my comms, phone, and laptop.  Jarvis doesn’t count as any of those,” Tony replies, looking up at him, and there’s nothing there that was Steve was expecting.  Instead, he looks—proud.

 

“What?” Steve says finally, letting him in.

 

“Cap, that fucking hurt.”  He turns his face a little, and Steve frowns at the bruise blooming under his eye and across his cheek.  Tony shrugs one shoulder, and says, “Whatever you have to do, muscles, just do it.”

 

“Why are you taking this so easily?”

 

“Oh, please.  I’m not an idiot.  I know how stupid that was.  I also know it’s not the last time I’m going to do it, though I think I can definitely count Johnny out on helping me.  But, okay—hear me out.  I’m fucking terrified of space.”

 

Steve blinks at him.  This is not how he was expecting this conversation to go.  “That makes less than no sense,” Steve says.

 

“That also—makes less than—what?”  Tony tries out a new emotion and looks at Steve in befuddlement until Steve scrubs a hand over his face, hiding the smile that wants to creep out.

 

“I thought you were going to be furious,” Steve says, “I literally thought I was going to have to weather a tantrum.”

 

“Is Johnny suspended?”  Steve nods.  “So that means I’m not,” Tony says, “Just worse.  Maybe—no, you wouldn’t quarantine me.  Unless—” he adds at the change in Steve’s expression, “—restricted access?”  Steve nods again.  “I can deal with that.  How long?”

 

“Indefinite.”

 

“Shit,” Tony says, looking away from him, “Okay.  That blows.”

 

“That’s it?” Steve says, not tearing his eyes from him.  He’s not sure how this is happening.

 

“I will take it like a champ—oh, serious pun intended, wow.”  Steve refrains from rolling his eyes.  Tony lifts a fist, grins, and says, “I accept on one condition.”  Steve’s eyes narrow, and Tony’s grin grows.  “Stop acting like we’re in high school and avoiding me just because you realized you didn’t loathe me.”

 

“Loathe is a pretty strong word,” Steve says.

 

Tony wiggles his fist a little.  “I think we’re at, like, can only just barely stand each other?”

 

“If you go outside again. I’ll fucking float you,” Steve says before he bumps his fist against Tony’s and gets up.

 

He pretends he doesn’t hear Tony’s absolute howl of laughter as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys rock. No seriously, I'm putting this up a day earlier than I normally would for a few reasons, but mostly because I've received the most lovely feedback and some of you even dropped some recommendations that I can't wait to check out! I'm also having a shitty morning at work, as well as wanted to get this thing off the ground, so I figured now would be a good time to post.
> 
> A quick shout out to annanndstann, as well, for the awesome idea to include the actual media dumps in the chapters, so if you were scratching your head at the new format in the first scene, that's why. I cackled way too much over creating their passwords. Thank you, dear! If anyone else has anything they're dying to see in a space au fic, please let me know. As I've said before, I have a ton of ideas and the first year is planned out in its entirety, but as there doesn't seem to be a lot of Avengers space au fics out there, I want to try to write something for everyone, as it were.
> 
> I hope you all were out the last few nights. The blue moon was _gorgeous_ , but I really think last night's stole the show. It took a while to rise, but _woah_. Mars was out early, and incredibly bright. Saturn was a lot easier to see last night, too. If you haven't checked it out yet, definitely do so tonight. The moon is waning now, but still should be pretty big. And, you know, Mars is awesome, so there's that.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their fourth month of travel, the crew of Icarus spend some time getting to know each other a little better.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: peterparker]_

_[password: spiderwebs]_

_Message Subject: we miss you!_

“Hey Peter!” a chorus of voices echoes through the screen.  Peter’s eyes immediately begin filling as he sees Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Harry, Gwen, and Wade all waving at him.

 

“Hi sweetie,” Aunt May says, smiling widely, “I can’t believe you’re about to enter your fourth month up there.  I can’t believe you’re not even close to being halfway.  It feels like you’ve been gone forever already.”

 

“I have to hang out with your parents now,” Harry says, “I’m becoming a surrogate son, it’s awesome.  Wade took over your bedroom, though, so he’s got the sweet spot.”

 

“Got kicked out of Xavier’s housing again,” Wade says with a shrug, “But May’s the nicest person in the universe, and will be even if you meet other sentient life.”

 

“He’s not going to encounter sentient life, guys,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes at them.

 

“He totally could!” Harry exclaims.

 

“They’re convinced one of your return videos after you pass Mars is going to be about aliens,” Gwen says, shaking her head, though she’s smiling when she looks back at the screen.

 

“Aliens aside,” Uncle Ben says, “We hope you’re having an amazing time up there, Peter.  It isn’t the same without you here, but we know that you’re doing something incredible, moving forward in a direction that will change everything.  I’m so proud of you, Peter.  We all are.”

 

“Ben, you’re going to make him cry,” Aunt May says, hitting his arm.

 

“In space,” Wade adds, “How lame.”

 

And then Peter starts crying even as he starts laughing.

 

——

 

_April 21, 2072_

_0700 hours_

Tony hasn’t been up long, but he’s had quite the eventful morning so far.  Steve hasn’t been sleeping well, and though he’s usually good at hiding it, he’d snapped at Tony this morning, enough that Tony hurled something nasty back at him, and then they were just spitting venom at each other until Tony finally left.

 

He took his anger out on Wanda when she texted into the group chat, _A bunch of the tomatoes are red!_ , and he’d told her that no one gave a rat’s ass before shutting off his alerts.  He still hasn’t checked, but he’s sure there’s a flood of anger directed toward him.

 

Now, barely an hour after he woke up—and really, he’s shocked that he even woke this late in the first place—he’s snapped one of his soldering irons in half.  He gives up.  After a moment’s contemplation, Tony decides he’s had enough of this ridiculous game they’re playing, and he heads for the med bay.

 

He bypasses the prompt that should keep him out with an easy hack.  He thinks Steve knows that revoking access doesn’t actually do anything to him, but he’s tried to let him have his power.  It’s been about a month of not speaking to Bruce, though, and he’s going to split his knuckles against a wall if he has to spend the next three years like this.

 

Bruce is a perfectly civilized human being when he finds him, and that just stirs something unhealthy in Tony’s stomach when he sees him.  His own hair is a mess, and there are bags worthy of a fucking medal under his eyes, and Bruce is just sitting there, sipping his tea.

 

“I see you’ve let yourself in,” Bruce says calmly.

 

“I don’t really see how revoking my access to the med bay makes sense, but to each his own.”

 

“It was a specific request.”

 

Tony’s eyes narrow minimally.  “Is that so?  Good to know.  I’ll file it away for later consideration, check it off in the never pile.”

 

“Thanks for stopping by,” Bruce says before he turns in his chair again, setting his mug down and turning back to one of his slides.

 

Tony weighs his options.  If he had actually slept the implied seven hours last night, he might rationally continue this conversation with words.  However, if he counts, he really only got 45 minutes, and so he irrationally grabs a beaker and smashes it against his hand.

 

Tony grins when Bruce’s shoulders slump.

 

“Please tell me it was your left.”

 

Tony considers.  “Right,” he says.

 

Bruce turns around, alarm etching its way across his face, and Tony steps in and kisses him.  It’s easy, and familiar in a way that makes Bruce’s chest ache.  He lets it happen for barely a second before he pulls away, shaking his head.  “No,” he says.

 

Tony smears blood across his cheek when he pulls him back.  Bruce sighs into his mouth, and Tony holds him there for three long breaths until Bruce moves again, and he lets him.  “Stop,” he says, so Tony holds out his hand.

 

Bruce scrubs his own hand across his face in agitation, fingers bunching in the hair at his temples before he concedes, turning away to get one of his kits.  “We had a deal,” he says when he and Tony are sat opposite each other, “You were going to stop doing that.”

 

“Well, there was no part of the deal where you stopped talking to me,” Tony says, “So there.”

 

“Tony,” Bruce sighs, “Please.”

 

Tony backs off, hearing the exhaustion in his voice.  “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “That was rude.”

 

“It was,” Bruce agrees, but there’s enough of a smile when he glances up at Tony that he considers them okay.

 

“I missed you, asshole,” Tony says, curling one of his fingers up to rub at the underside of Bruce’s wrist.

 

“You’re making this difficult,” he says, pinching the side of Tony’s hand, and then he looks up, his voice changing into something lighter as he continues, “I can’t believe you just smashed one of my beakers over your hand to get my attention.”

 

Tony smirks.  “It is me, after all.  And you.  One and one equals three.”

 

“Are you going to do it again?” Bruce asks, turning back to his hand.

 

“Of course I am,” Tony snorts, “It’s space, Bruce.  Best way to conquer a fear is to be swallowed by it.  If this were a different situation, I’d ask you out for drinks.”

 

“And I would remind you that I’m married.”

 

“Listen, we’ve done the three person tango before, I’m all about hopping back on that wagon.”  Bruce pinches him again.  “Fine.  Inappropriate.  Whatever.  I’m bored, and Steve is in a mood.  What are you working on?”

 

“A virus.”

 

“Tell me it’s a space virus.”

 

“Tony,” he warns, but Tony can hear the inflection in his voice that lets him know it’s exciting.

 

“It’s a _bad_ space virus?  Oh, I love those.  Are you done yet?  You are the slowest ever.”

 

“You have tiny fucking pieces of glass in your hand, you—you—asslamp.”

 

Tony guffaws.  Bruce calls him unattractive.  They stop not being friends and poke at the space virus together.

 

——

 

_0845 hours_

Peter finds the last vacuum-sealed bag of fresh mozzarella after an hour of searching, digs through the teas until he finds something herbal that probably has twigs in it, and then takes his supplies with him from the kitchen toward the greenroom.  When he lets himself in, Wanda is nowhere to be found, but he walks amongst the thriving world of green slowly until he spots one of her sneakers poking out from behind a fern.

 

He comes around the fern and frowns when he finds her bent over a book, scribbling furiously.  He taps the bottom of her sneaker with his Converse clad foot, smiling when she looks up.

 

“Hey,” she says, “What’s up?”

 

“I come bearing snacks,” Peter says, revealing the cheese.

 

“Where did you find that?” Wanda gasps, scrambling upright, “I thought we didn’t have any left.”

 

“You said that some of the tomatoes were red.  I thought we’d have an impromptu caprese.”

 

“You’re amazing,” Wanda says, her smile wide and bright.  “Come look.  They’re gorgeous.”  Peter follows her through the maze of green until he spots them, little spots of red bursting through.  “I tried one earlier,” Wanda admits, “They’re delicious.  They’re one of the few that we can snack on a little, too, because they grow so quickly, especially with this amazing soil NASA provided us with.”  She picks a handful off and then drops to the ground, ducking her head as she scoots under the table.  Peter laughs, but follows, and they sit together, Peter’s knee balanced on top of hers, their backs against the cool material of the wall.

 

“Oh,” he says when it starts raining lightly.

 

“Nine o’clock, every morning.”  She plucks a small ball of mozzarella out of the bag and pops it into her mouth, following it with a tomato.  She groans softly, head dropping over onto Peter’s shoulder.  “No one usually visits me this early.”

 

“Well,” Peter says, taking a tomato from her, “Tony was kind of an ass to you.”

 

Wanda waves a hand dismissively.  “He’s always an ass.  I think he’s moping about Steve.”

 

“Really?”

 

“You haven’t noticed?  I thought you were totally on the space bone wave.”

 

Peter laughs softly, leaning his head against hers.  “I mean, I’m not saying it’s not going to happen, it just seems a little less likely lately.”

 

“Oh, come on.  His conversation with Johnny lasted way longer than the one with Tony.  He definitely didn’t read him the riot act.”

 

“Can I tell you a secret?”  Wanda takes a mozzarella ball, and Peter inhales slowly.  “Tony wants to do it again.  He asked me to help him.”

 

“Tell me you said no,” she says, hand halfway to her mouth.  When he doesn’t respond, Wanda lifts up, looking over at him.  “Peter.”

 

“I did,” he says, “I’m just not sure if I should tell Steve.”

 

“Do you think Johnny will help him again?”

 

“I think Steve might lose his shit if he does, but he’s definitely considering it.”

 

“Shit, I don’t know,” Wanda says, and then she reaches over and plucks Peter’s hand from his lap, tangling their fingers together.  He smiles, not meeting her gaze when he reaches over for a tomato.  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Wanda says finally, “Maybe Tony will see reason.”

 

Peter’s laugh is instantaneous.  “Yeah, that doesn’t sound likely.”

 

“Wanda?” Sam’s voice floats into the greenroom.

 

“Peter?” Wanda’s voice is soft, and Peter looks up, eyebrows raised in question.  He doesn’t expect it when she leans forward, lips pressed lightly against his, the smallest kiss he thinks he’s ever received.  She smiles when she leans back, and he’s just staring at her, in awe of her.

 

“Nat, I can’t find her,” they hear Sam say, and then Wanda’s gone, slipping out from under the table, leaving her tomatoes behind, and heading over to him.

 

Peter just picks up another tomato, grabs a mozzarella ball, and tries to make his brain work again.

 

——

 

_1100 hours_

Steve stops trying just before lunch, and he drags himself off to one of the flight decks.  He thinks he must look terrible because Sam sighs and says, “He’s in the library.”

 

Steve wanders off in that direction, exhaling relief when he sees Bucky’s figure curled up in one of the chairs.  “Hey,” he grunts as he closes the door behind him.

 

Bucky looks up and over, and immediately marks his page before closing his book.  “Come here,” he says, getting up and moving to the sofa.  He puts his back against one of the arms, bends one knee in against the sofa and lets the other hang off the side so that when Steve collapses against him, they’re both comfortable.

 

“I haven’t slept in three days,” Steve murmurs, closing his swollen eyes and sinking into the warm circle of Bucky’s arms.

 

Bucky loops one arm around him, hand resting easily against his lower back, and the other cards lightly through Steve’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as he does.  “We really are going to get there in three years,” Bucky says quietly, “I hadn’t honestly believed it.”

 

“Advanced nuclear rockets,” Steve quotes at him.

 

“I know, he’s some kind of certified genius or whatever.  He’s still a giant fuckface, and we should have left him behind.”

 

“I don’t hate him anymore, and it’s aggravating.”

 

“Well, aggravating is not one of the emotions I’m allowing into this space right now, so pick a different topic.”

 

“I can’t wait to see Mars, Buck.”

 

Bucky smiles, letting his head rest against the sofa.  “Me too,” he murmurs, “I wish we could land.  There are so many questions I have for him.”

 

“Watney?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Why did you never ask?” Steve asks around a yawn, “Or take one of his classes?  He was always eager to talk.”

 

“I didn’t want to be just one of the hoard.”

 

“Well, he’s probably going to be dead when we get back, so that was dumb,” Steve says, and Bucky smiles when he presses closer, reaching back for Bucky’s hand so that he can curl theirs together, tucking it between them.

 

“He won’t be that old.  I’ll ask him when we get back,” Bucky promises.

 

“And then—then he can ask you about Europa.”

 

“That gives me anxiety.  New topic.”

 

Steve laughs into Bucky’s chest.  “I read your report this morning.  Why are you predicting a storm?”

 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not the new kind of topic I was thinking of,” Bucky says, his voice tight.

 

“Shut up, and answer me.”

 

“That’s counterproductive.”

 

“Buck,” Steve whines, actually _whines_ , and it’s because of that that Bucky gives in.

 

“If you look at the weather patterns for the past several decades, it makes sense.  All signs point toward an approaching storm, and we’re—well, we’re flying right toward it.”

 

“It’s space.  Anything can happen.”

 

“A recurring storm that’s come around every ten years is not likely to change its mind just because we’re here.”

 

“You tell ‘em, Bucky,” Steve mumbles, and Bucky knows he’s lost him, so he reaches down to press a kiss to his hair and lets himself drift off with Steve in the dark quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's so short, I'm sorry. Fair warning: the next month is even shorter. We're building up to something big, though, so this is really still getting to know everyone, seeing how they interact with everyone. And wow, look at that, totally did not mean for all of these kisses, they just kind of happened, whoops. Don't fret about the short chapters, though, because the month of July is literally over 6k, and the month of August is going to be dumb because that's when everything falls apart. WHAT.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their fifth month of space travel, Steve really tries not to murder their primary engineer.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: samuelwilson]_

_[password: redwing]_

_Message Subject: dude, your falcon is pissed off_

When the video loads, Sam is met with the image of a falcon’s face close to the screen, head turned to the side so that he can stare with one eye.

 

“I’m not kidding,” Riley’s voice comes from somewhere behind the falcon, “He won’t stop _staring_ at me.  Redwing!” he exclaims when the falcon suddenly takes flight, darting around the room until he comes to land on the top of the chair behind Riley, glaring at the back of his head.

 

“He was fine the first couple of months,” Riley says, not looking away from him, “But lately, he’s been royally not chill.  He keeps dive bombing me, and—okay, I think he’s settling in, so I’m going to—” Sam laughs the second Riley turns his head to face the screen because then Redwing is taking flight and cawing loudly.

 

“Seriously!” Riley whines, ducking, “It’s nonstop.  He’s so mad at you for leaving.  _I’m_ so mad at you for leaving.  I’ve got basically no one to talk to back at base now, it’s so boring.  I hope you’re having fun, though, man.  You’re going to be passing Mars pretty soon, too.  Make sure to take a thousand pictures and send me copies of everything.  You know what, just send your next message back containing ten minutes of watching Mars out the window.  I don’t even want to see your dumb face.  I’m kidding!” he yelps when Redwing dives at him.  “I’m setting him free,” Riley threatens.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Sam mutters, though he’s laughing as he watches Redwing swoop high again.

 

“Also kidding!” Riley exclaims, throwing his arms up over his head.  Redwing dives, levels off at the last second, and then lands softly on Riley’s arm, talons stretching to curl over his forearm.  Riley sighs and shifts until Redwing is comfortable.  “I think he just misses you being around, like I do,” Riley says, shrugging one shoulder, “I can’t wait for you to come home.  I can’t wait for all the stories.  I’m so happy for you, man.  We’re gonna go star-gaze and discuss where you might be.  Yeah, me and the bird.”

 

Riley signs off, and Sam sighs sadly.  He misses his best friend and copilot like crazy, but he’d known as soon as he heard that Steve was assigned captain of the mission that no one but Bucky would be their primary pilot, and so Riley hadn’t even bothered.  He’s glad he’s home, though, so that he hadn’t had to leave Redwing with someone he didn’t trust with his life.

 

——

 

_May 4, 2072_

_0600 hours_

_Steve: Your access has been reinstated._

Tony gets a text from Steve outside of the group chat, and promptly types back the worst possible answer.

 

_Tony: Don’t hold your breath._

He’s already halfway to the flight deck when he receives Steve’s text, and he waits until he’s successfully accessed the locked door with his prints before he sends his own back.  He must be having a slow morning, though, not really paying attention to anything in particular, because his response is delayed.

 

_Steve: Tony, don’t._

Tony laughs when he digs his phone out and reads the message.  “This is a terrible fucking idea,” Johnny says as he grabs the communication helmet and drops it onto Tony’s head, letting him fix it.  Tony texts back while it sits there.

 

_Tony: Sorry, I’m a little busy right now._

He fixes the helmet, pulls on a pair of gloves, and then steps back three paces, ducks, and stands up into the top half of one of the EMUs.

 

Steve’s voice crackles to life over the comms, “Johnny, if you help him into that suit—”

 

He doesn’t finish his sentence, can’t think of a threat bad enough, but then Sam comes over the comms before it can get ugly, “I’ve got this one, Cap.  Nat, fist kissing time.”

 

“Ooh, fist kissing,” Tony giggles in a voice pitched high, “Get at me, ninja bird.”

 

“Jesus,” Johnny says, shaking his head, “I’m going to regret this.”

 

“Not if you come with me,” Tony says, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Johnny finishes screwing him in, throws up Tony’s visor, and taps a finger on the clear facemask, glaring at him.  “Don’t be an idiot.  If the wind patterns are too much, get back in here.  If not, take a look at my panel.”

 

“Your panel?” Tony says, stepping out of the harness, “I think _I_ built this badass mofo.”  Johnny’s glare gets a little meaner.  “Keep your pants on, torch.  We’ll be fine.  Jay, you awake?”

 

“For you, sir, always,” Jarvis responds in Tony’s ear, “How can I be of assistance?”

 

“Infiltrate Icarus’s systems and install the aforementioned spacewalk hack, please.”

 

“Spacewalk hack?” Johnny repeats, frowning at him, “What are you—” He starts swearing as the locks start sounding throughout the flight deck.  “Tony!”

 

“Lock up after me, sweetie,” Tony says before he turns and heads slowly for the depressurization room.

 

Johnny keeps swearing and yelling at him, but he helps him nonetheless until his voice is cut off as the door slides shut.  Tony inhales deeply, exhales as the depressurization begins, and then smiles when the hatch starts to open.

 

And then, he’s outside.

 

He moves slowly, latching onto one of the handles just outside the door before he pulls himself out, kicking away from Icarus.  The deep dark of space surrounds him, and his chest constricts as he turns his gaze below him.  There’s nothing.

 

He searches the endless world around him until he spots Earth, bright but growing small in the distance.  He starts to reach for his thrusters, wanting to drift higher until he can see past Icarus and to where Mars might be, but then Johnny comes over the comms, “Panel, Tony.  Leave Mars for later.”

 

Tony grumbles at him, but does as he’s told, turning his thrusters instead back toward the ship.  He makes his way slowly along the side until he reaches the panel Johnny’s been worrying ceaselessly about, and pulls it open.

 

Steve finds their frequency about fourteen minutes later, but his voice is strange when he says, “What did I tell you?”

 

“That you were going to float me the next time I went outside,” Tony says, frowning at the wires, “FYI, I’m outside.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

Tony’s frown turns as his head does, and he utilizes every ounce of his willpower not to gape, but _Steve_ is drifting over to him, _Steve_ , and he fails.  “I’m so confused,” Tony says finally.

 

“Good.  Show me why you’re out here.”

 

It takes him a moment, but then he says, “Remember when Peter was putting holes in the walls, and your pal flipped out at him?”

 

“I do,” Steve says, his tone short, “What of it?”

 

“Well, he discovered something a little concerning, and Johnny’s been bugging me about taking a look.”

 

“I think that sentence needs to be flipped around a little,” Steve says, and Tony grins at him.

 

“Peter found something mildly weird, and I wanted to see if it was going to get weirder, so I coerced Johnny with an amazing blowjob to get me outside again.”

 

“Oh my god,” Johnny groans, “I’m—fuck, I’ll just—confine myself to quarters.”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Steve says as he reaches Tony, “But you will switch us back to the standard communication frequency and hand the reins over to Sam.”

 

“Thank you, Cap,” Johnny says quietly, and there’s a millisecond of static before they can hear the bustle of everyone else working on the ship, a dull thrum of energy.

 

Tony explains to him what’s wonky about the wires, and then they set about rearranging them, roping Peter in to run a few system checks before Tony’s satisfied.  As he’s closing the panel, Steve asks, “Why else are you out here?”

 

“Come again?” Tony says, screwing it back in place.

 

“You could have come to me, explained the situation, proposed an EVA, and I would have sent you and Johnny out to fix this.”

 

“And then you would have pulled us back in,” Tony says before he kicks away from Icarus and up.  Steve follows him, pulling himself to a stop along the outer handles when he finds Tony holding himself against the top of Icarus, looking out.  “That’s why,” Tony says, and Steve follows his gaze.

 

It’s easy to miss, but it’s there, and his breath catches as he understands.  _Mars_.  It doesn’t matter how many times he’s been up to the ISS, or even looking over at the Earth from the Moon, there is nothing quite like the yearning he has felt for something more.  He has always been eager to explore, always applied for every potential mission, always was the first to offer to go back up to ISS when those missions fell through.  He hadn’t had any hope in the Europa Expedition, and now here he is, looking through the beauty of space, and _Mars_ is in the distance.

 

Steve exhales, his breath rushing out and fogging his facemask for a second.  He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.  Beside him, Tony hums in agreement.  “Yeah,” he says, “Me too.”

 

——

 

_May 5, 2072_

_0500 hours_

It’s never really quiet on Icarus, with the steady presence of the ship running, but this morning, the air around Tony feels softer, less like it’s trying to get him up and going.  Sitting in the operations console, sometimes he feels as though Icarus is trying to remind him of all the things he has yet to do, but she’s still sleeping now.

 

A hand curls around his shoulder and rests there, this steady, warm weight that doesn’t move until Tony tilts his head back, gaze drifting upward.  Steve is bathed in the dim blue light of the console’s lights, making the blue of his eyes stand out in the overwhelming darkness.

 

“You’re up early,” he murmurs, holding out a mug of tea.

 

Tony hums and takes it gratefully, holding it between both of his hands and sighing as it warms his cold fingers.  He taps his temple with the edge of the mug and says, “Too busy.”

 

Steve nods in agreement as he takes the seat next to him.  They sit in companionable silence for a while, neither working, but both drifting off into something that’s not quite dozing, rather relaxing.

 

“Can you try to promise me something?” Steve asks as the half hour chimes softly on Tony’s laptop.  He nods slowly, rolling his head over to face Steve, who is watching him.  “The next time you want to go outside, can you give me some kind of warning beforehand?  Even if it’s just an hour before, at least so I can somewhat control the damage.”

 

“Damage?” Tony repeats.

 

Steve lifts a hand to scrub over his face.  “You’re pissing NASA off.”

 

Tony’s laugh is louder than he means it to be, but he can’t help it.  “That’s the idea,” he says, looking back out toward space, “See how far I can get them riled up.”

 

“Why?” Steve asks, his voice dropping lower.

 

“Because it doesn’t piss you off,” Tony says, not looking at him, “And that’s the most interesting facet of this ongoing test so far.”

 

Steve ignores most of what he says—he’s trying not to think about _why_ it doesn’t frustrate him because that’s a whole other conversation he’s not ready to have with himself—and instead asks, “What ongoing test?”

 

“The Tony Stark annoyance test.  Rhodey says I’ve been hosting it all my life.”

 

Steve smiles.  “Have you talked to him recently?”

 

“Yeah, he sends updates every once in a while, but he’s busy running my company now, so I get why there isn’t as much.  How are your friends back home?”

 

“Living their lives without me,” Steve says, “It’s weird, to imagine everything carrying on, but when you think that we’re going to be gone for six years—”

 

“Makes you reevaluate the life you’re creating up here,” Tony says, and _yes_.  That’s the part of the conversation Steve is hiding from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I know this is short, but don't worry, the next few are quite long! I'm hoping to finish the month of July today, so hopefully I'll continue to stay ahead of you guys. I'm posting this earlier than I usually would because I have today off, which I literally never have in my working career ever, so I'm fairly excited. This weekend has been amazing, so I hope you are all having an equally wonderful life.
> 
> A few quick notes. Are you following the [space au](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/tagged/space-au) tag that I have on Tumblr? There are a ton of fun little behind the scenes moments that happen over there. On that same vein, if you are following it, then you know about the potential warning that will be added to this series in the last fic. I'm telling you now in case anyone wants to abandon ship before you get in too deep, or if you just want to prepare--there will be a minor character death. I'm not telling you who, but Erin and I did have a conversation about it in the space au tag, and so some hints were dropped.
> 
> In other news, we saw _X-Men: Apocalypse_ last night, and it was AWESOME. Cyclops was cooler than everyone, and I'm stupidly excited about his potential parts in upcoming movies.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their sixth month of deep space travel, the crew encounters conspiracy theories, death, and whether or not life exists beyond Earth.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: stevenrogers]_

_[password: americathebrave]_

_Message Subject: hey loser_

“Hey there,” Peggy says with a wide smile, “I apologize for the subject line, but Sharon hacked into your file and saw what your password was, and then she wouldn’t let me change it.”  Steve barks a laugh at this, imagining Sharon giggling freely when she had first seen his password.  She was always trying to hide behind a scowl in the last few years before he left, and it makes him happy to think of her finding amusement in him.

 

“She’s getting so big, Steve.  I know she’s fourteen, and I really shouldn’t be surprised, but it feels like it all went by so fast.  She’s going to be twenty when you see her next.  I’m going to be _forty_.  God, we’re old.”  Peggy is quiet for a moment, just staring at the screen, her smile melting into something a little sad.  “I miss you so much,” she says softly, “I miss coming home to your boring old music, I miss going out to gay bars because absolutely no one will come with me anymore, I miss those awful brown grandpa shoes you used to wear all the time, I miss our morning runs, I miss snuggling and movie nights, I miss your smile and those stupid, big blue eyes.  I know you’re up there doing incredible things, but I just wish you were here, showing me where Mars was in the sky rather than passing by it.  I know it’s selfish, to want you back.  I guess you should have just taken me with you.”

 

Peggy sighs, then, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest as she rests her cheek on them, looking at him sideways.    Steve shifts until he’s lying on his side, looking over at her in the same manner.  “I think Sharon’s sending you up a video, too.  She wanted to show you some of the questions on the test she just got back.  She’s doing incredibly in school.  You should see the classes she’s interested in taking next year.  She’s following right in your footsteps.”  She pauses to yawn, and Steve finds himself suddenly yearning for her, wanting to curl close on the sofa and pass out to some late night sitcom, to wake up to Sharon calling them Will and Grace.

 

“It’s way past my bedtime,” Peggy murmurs, “I was going to record this earlier, but there was a fiasco with the SHIELD branch at NASA, and I had to work late. I think this is going out tomorrow morning, so I better send it over.  I hope you’re having fun as well as being safe because you can’t get anywhere in life just doing one, so don’t forget to smile every once in a while.  Your crew will like you more if you do, and yes, that is important,” she adds, imagining his response, and Steve hides his smile in his pillow as she does.

 

“I love you, Steve,” she whispers, reaching forward to touch the screen, “Come back soon.”

 

Steve doesn’t see her end the video because he’s hidden the rest of his face in the pillow, and his shoulders jump once before he lets it go quietly.

 

——

 

_June 17, 2072_

_0200 hours_

Bucky groans, head thudding against his desk.  He doesn’t know how to fix this.  More accurately, he can’t fix this, but he doesn’t know how to get them around it.

 

Sam throws his pen at the wall.

 

Bunking with Sam hadn’t been Bucky’s ideal situation, but Jane had steadfastly refused to allow Tony to room with anyone, and she believed that Steve deserved his own, as well, and so he had gone for the next best option.  He peeks over at him now from under his arm, and finds Sam glowering at the wall.

 

“It’s not the wall’s fault,” Bucky mumbles.

 

“It might as well be.  It’s part of the problem.”

 

Bucky sighs, lifting his head and rubbing his palms over his temples until he can definitely feel a fierce headache creeping in.  “Icarus isn’t the problem,” Bucky says.

 

“We’re back to this, then?” Sam says, swiveling in his chair to look at him, “Your NASA conspiracy?”

 

“It’s not a conspiracy,” Bucky says, “It’s the most plausible reason why this is happening.”

 

“You honestly think—”

 

“Yes, Sam.  I do.”

 

They stare at each other for a long moment until Sam gets up, going over to his pen.  He uncaps the erasable end and starts writing on their board.  Bucky watches his calculations for a little before he says, “NASA knew about the storm.”

 

“Then why send us directly into it?”

 

“The orbit of Jupiter to Earth was right.  They couldn’t have waited a year.”

 

“That’s bull.”

 

“It’s not, so pull your head out of your ass.”  Sam doesn’t reply.  They’ve had this fight so many times, it’s starting to just run in circles, over and over again.  Bucky decides to concede for a moment, and asks, “Can we just—figure out how to get through it?”

 

“We can’t,” Sam says, stepping back from his board, “Any adjustments we try to make will throw us off course for Europa, and we might as well be flying to Jupiter, then.  The pull of Jupiter’s gravity at our current trajectory is already bad enough, we can’t risk getting closer.”

 

“Can Icarus withstand a storm of this magnitude?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sam says, “I’d have to talk to Tony, and I just—don’t want to.”

 

“Let’s bring it to Steve, then.”

 

“You know he’ll just bring it to the table,” Sam says, finally turning away from his calculations, “This is one of those decisions he won’t make himself, noble fucking bastard.”

 

Bucky’s mouth curls up into a grin.  “Here are our options,” he says, pitching his voice to sound like Steve’s.

 

Sam dissolves into a fit of giggles, and then gives up standing and just sits on the floor.  “I just want to be there, man,” he says, looking up at his calculations, “I want to look out the window and see fucking _Jupiter_ looking back at me.  Can you even imagine?”

 

“No,” Bucky says honestly, “I’ve dreamt about it so often, and I know that when we’re actually there, it won’t even compare.  And not even through the window, imagine standing on Europa’s surface and looking up into the night sky, and there it is.”

 

“Shit,” Sam says, sighing, “It’s so far away.”

 

“The best will be when it starts showing up more clearly while we’re flying.”

 

Sam drops back onto his elbows, closing his eyes.  “Do you think we’ll find life?” he asks.

 

“I don’t see why not,” Bucky says, “If there’s water.”

 

“Water doesn’t equal life.”

 

“It kind of does.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

They sit there in silence for a while, each mulling over the years to come, until Sam finally says, “Sleep or Steve?”

 

“Sleep.  He’s probably awake, but I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

 

“It’s fantastic that our captain is an insomniac,” Sam says as he picks himself up and goes back over to his desk.  Bucky opens his mouth, but Sam beats him to it, “Hello kettle.”

 

——

 

_0500 hours_

Steve has been awake for all of six minutes when there’s a knock on his door.  He’s still in bed, barely fit for company, but he forces himself upright and throws the blankets back.  “Steve?” he hears through the door.

 

He deflates a little, and says, “Come in.”

 

Wanda opens the door, and his shoulders drop lower when he sees her, eyes red and swollen, tears welling and threatening to spill over, and her whole body trembling.  “The media dump came in late last night,” she whispers, not coming in.  Steve’s chest tightens as he waits for it.  “I only just finished downloading Pietro’s video, and it was the first thing he said.”

 

“Wanda,” he says, holding out an arm.

 

She rushes over to him, crumbling.  “She’s gone,” she gasps, tucking her knees in close as her hands ball into fists.  Steve draws her against him, shifting until he can lie down, and she just _shatters_.

 

“Jarvis, door,” he says as quietly as he can, and the door slides shut.  “I know it hurts,” he says to Wanda, rubbing a hand over her back, “But at least your brother was there with her.”

 

“While I’m off—gallivanting in space,” Wanda sobs, pressing closer to Steve, “I wasn’t there for her.  I—I _left_ her.  I left _him_ , Steve.  I left my brother to pick up the pieces, and now he’s doing all of—of—of this alone, and I can’t—I can’t help him.”

 

“Wanda—”

 

“He has to b-bury her, and—and pay for the funeral, and he—he has to arrange— _everything_ , all while try—trying to pretend he’s okay—because that’s what he does.  Because he’s so—much stronger than me.”

 

“Hey,” Steve says, his voice taking on a hard edge, “Don’t think for one second that you aren’t strong.  Look where you are.”

 

“This means nothing,” she says, “This is _nothing_.  It’s not like we’re going to—to find _life_ or anything.  It’s all—circumstantial.”

 

“Wanda—”

 

“My mother is _dead_ , and I’m in fucking _space_.”

 

Steve sighs.  He doesn’t know how to help her with words, and so instead he just runs a hand through her hair and hums softly, trying to calm her with something physical.  Her sobs start to taper off, growing softer and less angry, and, eventually, she falls into a fitful slumber, fingers clutching at Steve’s damp shirt.

 

Someone knocks on his door.

 

Steve lets out a breath, reaches with one hand for his earphone, which is lying on a small shelf next to his bed, and sticks it in.  “What?” he says into the comms, knowing that enough of his team are asleep that he can get away with a sliver of frustration.

 

“Can we—come in?” Bucky asks, unsure.

 

“Is it vital?” Steve asks, closing his eyes.

 

“I mean, _yeah_ ,” Sam says.

 

Steve sighs again.  If they’re both here, he knows that they’re not just bored and bumming around, and so he carefully extracts himself from Wanda, says, “Give me a second,” and puts himself together.  He tucks his blanket around her sleeping form, lays a soft kiss against her temple, and then goes to change into a pair of navy NASA sweats and a fitted grey shirt.

 

When he opens the door, Bucky quirks an eyebrow at his hair, but Steve just shrugs and steps out.  “Not in here,” he says, closing the door behind him, “Wanda’s mother died.”

 

“Man,” Sam exhales, shaking his head, “That sucks.”

 

“Can you check on the greenroom today?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Sam says.

 

“Thank you.  Walk with me,” Steve commands, leading the way.  He runs a hand through his hair, frowning when he finds it longer than usual, and makes a mental note to ask Natasha to cut it for him.

 

Sam starts talking the second they’re away from his room.  “We are approaching a rather large space storm, and our options are pretty dire.  We can go around it, and potentially alter our trajectory enough that we’d be closer to Jupiter than planned.  Or, we can go through it, and potentially damage Icarus in the process.”

 

“Dire, indeed,” Steve says, grinding his teeth once.  “Tony,” he adds in greeting when they reach the operations console.

 

“Cap,” Tony says, tipping his head back, “You’re late.”  He holds out a tea, and Steve smiles in thanks.  “And you come bearing my favorite company.”

 

“It’s too early for asshole,” Steve says, dropping into his usual seat.

 

“Fair enough.  Bucky, Sam,” Tony says, flashing them a smile before he turns back to his tablet.

 

Both pilots hesitate, but Steve waves a hand as he sips his tea.  “I’m going to bring it to the table anyway, so it doesn’t matter.  Talk me through the different options.”

 

“Only one is really feasible,” Bucky says, “Going through it.”

 

“Oh, is this about your space storm?” Tony asks, not looking up, “That was a very concise report last night.”

 

“You let him read the reports?” Sam asks, bristling.

 

“The relevant ones.  Jarvis sorts them, under strict orders.  Guys, come on, it’s barely morning, I’m tired, can we just move on?”

 

Though Sam’s jaw is tight, he says, “We can’t alter our course.”

 

“Jupiter is too strong,” Tony says.

 

“Stop talking,” Steve says, and Tony lifts his mug in agreement, drinking.

 

“Jupiter is too strong,” Sam agrees, “If we alter too much, then we might end up in its orbit come time to land on Europa, and—well.  We can’t exactly do that.  You think leaving Earth’s orbit is bad?  Just wait until we’re being sucked into Jupiter.”

 

“I mean, I’d kind of like to see the gas clouds firsthand,” Bucky says, looking over at Sam, who nods.

 

“Yeah, it would be a pretty badass last view.”

 

“Focus,” Steve says before he yawns.

 

“Did you sleep last night?” Bucky and Tony ask at the same time.  Tony hurriedly looks back at his tablet, and Bucky frowns at him.

 

“Yes,” Steve says, “But I also spent the last hour consoling Wanda, so.”

 

“Oh no,” Tony says, slumping.

 

“Don’t say anything until she tells you herself.  Guys, seriously.  Space storm.  Can we go through it unharmed?”

 

“I mean—Tony?” Sam says.

 

“Oh, I’m included now, okay,” he says, but it has no bite as he turns, facing them, “Um—probably?”

 

“What does probably mean?” Bucky asks.

 

“I’m gonna need a little more information on what this storm looks like.”

 

“I can send you my full report,” Bucky concedes.

 

“Thanks, that’ll help,” Tony says, turning around again.

 

They continue talking to the sound of him typing.  “When can we expect it?” Steve asks.

 

“It’s building right now, but I’d say, based on previous research, in about a month or two,” Bucky says, “Which, in answer to your next question, will likely give us enough time to prep, particularly as we get closer and our readings become more definite.”

 

“Still want to bring this to the table?”

 

All three of their phones buzz a second before a text alert appears on their visual comms.  Steve starts to file it, but Tony makes a noise, so he opens it.

 

_Tony: Wake up, chickens.  We have work to do.  Table meeting in ten._

“Here’s what I want to bring to the table,” Tony says, tossing his tablet toward the dashboard, “When are we going to address the fact that NASA knew about this and didn’t tell us?”

 

“Seriously?” Sam exclaims, rounding on Bucky, “I honestly didn’t think you would sink that low.”

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, home slice,” Tony says, “It’s not a conspiracy theory, though any mention of those words, and Jarvis is all over it.  He found sources.  Admission of guilt, as it were.”

 

“This is bullshit,” Sam says.

 

As he’s turning, Steve says, “It’s not,” and Sam stops, not turning as he waits for the rest of Steve’s sentence, “It was a decision Jane and Reed came upon.  I didn’t know what it was, just that there was something that could potentially jeopardize the mission, and they wanted to still send us.”

 

“How could you not know what it was?” Bucky asks, “How can you expect us to believe that you just went along with something like that without knowing everything?”

 

“They wouldn’t tell me, Buck,” Steve says, “I swear to you.  I found out after we were halfway through training.  I walked in on them discussing it.  Reed was upset about some readings, and Jane refused to speak about it to me later.”

 

_Peter: It’s early._

The message forces them away from the conversation because then Peter is stumbling in, Johnny not far behind.  Sam and Bucky leave to sit, and Steve turns to Tony.  “Are we doing the right thing?” Steve asks softly.

 

Tony nods.  “You are.  Make this decision.  We’re going through it, and we’ll discuss now what happens with our relationship with NASA.  Personally, I think we should leak the information in a media dump.  They have twenty-four hours to release whatever we send to them.”

 

“They could ignore that.”

 

“Well, then we’ll see them in six years.”

 

Steve smiles.

 

——

 

_June 20, 2072_

_1700 hours_

“What do you think?” Natasha asks, throwing her hacky sack into the air again and watching it fight the artificial gravity for half a second before plummeting back down.

 

“I’m on the life side right now,” Betty says, “But also, horror movies are better than thriller.  I forget which conversation we were having.”

 

“Definitely not the life one, I hate that one,” Natasha grumbles, “Everyone’s so _hopeful_.  It’s nauseating.”

 

“Hopeful isn’t a bad thing,” Betty says, snatching the hacky sack out of midair and then tossing it into an arc.  Nat sighs dramatically, but throws it back and forth with her.  “Hopeful keeps us going.”

 

“I prefer realism.”

 

“Pessimism,” Betty corrects.

 

Nat points a finger at her, held straight but without anger, and says, “Water does not equal life.”

 

Betty shrugs one shoulder, opens her mouth, and rolls her eyes when Natasha whips the hacky sack up so that it hits the ceiling.  Betty catches it as it rockets back down.  “Fine,” she concedes, “Horror versus thriller.  Is this like the science fiction versus scifi thing you’ve been going on about?”

 

“Literally leads us in a straight circle right back to life on Europa,” Natasha says, tapping one of Betty’s feet with her own, “Horror and thriller are different things.  Horror is fucking scary.  Thriller makes your spine tingle.”

 

“I think that’s romance.”

 

“Love is for children.”

 

“Stop quoting yourself.  Move on,” Betty says, throwing the hacky sack up and over.

 

“Horror equals things jumping out at you, _BOO_!”  Betty jumps, Natasha barks a laugh, and Betty smacks their ankles together.  “Point proven,” Nat goes on, “Horror equals things go bump in the night, gross diseases that turn you into the walking dead or some shit, and generally just turn you into the kind of person who doesn’t want to sleep with the lights off.  Or alone,” she adds, thinking back to the first time she’d ever let Clint crash in her room.

 

“Tell me about that,” Betty says as she watches her drift off.

 

“It was very romantic,” Natasha deadpans, “He fell asleep face first on the floor, and I fell asleep with one arm hanging out of the bed, “reaching for him.”” Natasha makes air quotes with her fingers around the hacky sack before she throws it.  “I almost vomited the next morning when I woke up.”

 

“Not Tony you’re talking to,” Betty reminds her.

 

Natasha makes a face.  “He made me pancakes.”

 

Betty smiles up at the ceiling.  “Thriller?” she prompts because she knows Natasha, who grabs the new topic eagerly.

 

“Thriller equals uncomfortable things.  Someone lingering in the shadows or corner of a frame, bugs just—fucking everywhere, and usually things that involve eyes.”

 

“Oh,” Betty says, frowning.

 

“Exactly.  We should have a horror versus thriller movie night.  _The Conjuring_ and—”

 

“ _The Strangers_ ,” Betty supplies.

 

Natasha looks at her strangely, but says, “Right on.  That shit creeped me out.  That’s old school, man.”

 

“Sh, don’t tell Bruce,” Betty says, her smile directed at the ceiling.

 

“He’s totally a wuss about horror.”

 

“He likes dramas.”

 

“Lame,” they both say at the same time, and Natasha’s next throw is quicker purely by excitement.

 

“So, scifi versus science fiction brings us to life on Europa how?” Betty asks when she catches the hacky sack.

 

“Oh, _please_ ,” Natasha groans, “The end of _Sunshine_ versus the end of _Europa Report_.”

 

“Wow, okay,” Betty says, nodding, “Point.  Go on.”

 

“Yes, _Sunshine_ turned into a bit of a horror at the end, and everyone got their panties in a twist about it, but totally plausible.  I mean, aside from the fact that NASA would literally never endorse, or even think up, a mission like that, it was a believable story.”

 

“So was _Europa Report_ ,” Betty points out.

 

Natasha’s groan is so ridiculous, Betty looks toward the door to see if Tony’s entered.  “Alien octopus,” Natasha says, her voice spiraling out of control, getting higher in her absolute frustration, and then it cracks around, “with glowing fucking tentacles.”

 

“Bioluminescence,” Betty corrects.

 

“Puh- _lease_ ,” Natasha says, so Betty throws the hacky sack high enough to hit the ceiling.  “Exactly,” Natasha continues, “Worst ending ever to a completely believable movie.”

 

“Even the CGI?”

 

“I didn’t say it _looked nice_ , I just said it was believable.  Until the glowing fucking tentacle alien octopus.  Dumb.  With a capital B at the end for effect.  _Jesus_ , I could have accepted the bioluminescence if it was some really bizarre microorganism, but they had to go with glowing tentacles.”

 

“So it boils down to the Discovery Channel versus the Syfy channel?”

 

“Fuck, if you weren’t married, I would kiss you.”

 

“I’ve—done that,” Betty says, deciding halfway that she trusts Natasha with this information.

 

“Okay, we just went from a fun conversation to a stimulating one.  Tell me more.”

 

Betty shrugs one shoulder, and it hitches her throw.  The hacky sack tilts off to the side and falls away from them.  “Bruce and I have experimented with both sexes,” she says before she takes her legs down from the wall and sits up, reaching over for the hacky sack.

 

“That was not enough of a tell me more,” Natasha says, not sitting up.

 

“You don’t even know—one half of them,” Betty changes her mind halfway.  She’s never really told anyone this before.

 

“Holy _ballsack_ ,” Nat says, swinging around gracefully until she’s facing Betty, cross-legged, “One of them was Tony.”

 

Betty lifts an eyebrow.  Natasha leans forward for a high five, and though she feels like she might regret this decision, Betty returns it.

 

“This is amazing,” Nat says before she stands, “I don’t even need details.  I’ll come back around and ask you about the girl later, and then we’ll really get jamming.  You want some hash?  I think Wanda is secretly growing weed in here.  She keeps hiding under the tables.”  And then Natasha is gone into the greenroom, though Betty can hear her hollering through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this yesterday, when my anxiety was rampaging across the streets, but today's even worse, so here you go. I have to teach in front of the Relay for Life tonight with a sequence that's barely stitched together, I just found out I'm assisting in my _first ever_ yoga class on _Monday_ , and I have zero to no time to finish my homework before next weekend's YTT. In the meantime, I haven't started the next book for book club, I've forgotten to post for Writers of the Mark two weeks in a row, and all I can think about is spideypool rather than the space au. I'm sorry for the complaining, I'm just kind of losing my mind. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their seventh month of deep space travel, the crew of Icarus celebrates an American holiday, falls apart a little, and finds themselves a little closer than intended.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: robertbanner]_

_[password: smash]_

_Message Subject: We miss you!_

Bruce waits for the video to load anxiously, looking over at its progress out of the corner of his eye while he continues jotting down a few notes.  He doesn’t typically receive video messages in the data dump—everyone he loves is with him on the ship.  Tony had once told him that was the saddest thing he’d ever heard, but once Bruce reminded him that he was one of the two people, he had just walked away beaming.

 

He knows that the email address is his mother’s, but he can’t quite bring himself to believe it.  He hasn’t talked to her in so long, and he’s curious if NASA reached out to her, or if she finally decided enough was enough.

 

“Hi sweetie.”

 

Bruce looks up and over, blinking as he stops breathing.  There she is, as beautiful as the last time he saw her, though her hair is streaked with white now, and there’s a fading bruise on her cheek.  It’s been almost twenty years since the last time he saw his father, and he’s brought back immediately, as though he’s sitting across from his mother in the kitchen and knowing he’s next.

 

His mother waves, and then retracts her hand, looking over her shoulder.  Bruce closes his eyes.  She’s still there, and she’s sending this without his approval.

 

“I know it’s been a few years since we last talked,” she says, and she scoffs at the same time Bruce does, “Okay, that’s a lie.  It’s been several years, but—I’ve been watching your progress on the news.  Occasionally, they’ll report on your location, but my favorites are the reports they’ve made public on your website there.  I can hear your voice every time I read your words.”  She smiles sadly, looking down at her hands.  “I miss you, Bruce,” she whispers, “I hope you’re doing okay up there.  I hope Betty is well, and Tony, too.  You brought your whole world with you.”  She looks back up, finally, and Bruce swallows when he hears a door close somewhere.  “Hopefully, you’ll let your world get a little bigger,” she says quickly, “Don’t shut yourself out from the others.  Make—friends,” but it’s disjointed because she doesn’t know how to talk to him anymore.  She frowns.

 

“Rebecca?”

 

“I love you, sweetie,” she says quickly, and then the screen goes dark.

 

Bruce jerks away from his desk and turns his back on the screen, exhaling.

——

 

_July 4, 2072_

_1200 hours_

Natasha’s glare could level the entire ship if Steve let her.  “Stop,” he says, pointedly not looking at her.

 

“There are _streamers_ ,” she says, and Peter ducks into his coffee mug, “above my _head_ ,” Bucky swivels in his chair until he’s not facing her, “in fucking _space_ ,” Betty casually gets up to get milk, “and _glitter_ in my _oatmeal_.”

 

“It’s a national holiday,” Steve says.

 

“I’m from _Russia_!” she exclaims, throwing her spoon at him.

 

Steve ducks it easily, blinking at her.

 

“She’s from— _somewhere_!” she says, brandishing a hand in Wanda’s direction as Wanda enters the kitchen.

 

“Transylvania,” Wanda supplies, “Oh, _glitter_.”

 

“You’re not helping!” Natasha shouts, “You’re fucking second in command is from _Romania_.”

 

“Not—all the time,” Bucky says, turning back around, “I think I was definitely from Spain once.”

 

“I am _not_ touching your reincarnation mumbo jumbo with a ten foot _streamer_ ,” Natasha snaps at him, “I’m sure there’s someone foreign on this tin can that will agree with me.”

 

“They’re not just red, white, and blue,” Steve says, lifting his mug.

 

Natasha steals Bruce’s spoon, who sighs and gets up for a new one.

 

“I’m offended with you for the rest of the day,” Natasha says.

 

Steve shrugs.

 

——

 

_July 16, 2072_

_1900 hours_

“Media dump is done!” Wanda says cheerily as she starts sorting into personal files.  She’s just finishing when she notices one addressed to all of them from NASA.  “Steve?”

 

“Mm?” he says from the table, where he’s holding a hand of cards.

 

“There’s one from NASA to all of us.”

 

“Anyone particular from NASA?”

 

“Reed.”

 

Steve looks up and over, catching the attention of Bucky and Sam.  Natasha just keeps glowering at her cards.  Steve lifts a hand to his earphone, for no reason other than he’s suddenly nervous, and says, “Operations console.  Now.”

 

He’s already out of the rec room by the time the other four catch on, and they hurry to follow him, gathering people on their way.  When the team meets in the operations console, Steve already has the video message loaded onto the windshield and is waiting for them to gather.  He presses play after he checks to make sure everyone is present.

 

“Hey guys,” Reed says, a swift movement of his hand indicating a wave, “We’ve officially reached a milestone.  You’ve been on your way to Europa for just a little over six months.  You’ll be approaching Mars pretty soon, which is very exciting, and then—well—you’ll have gone farther than anyone in the history of mankind.”

 

“Skip the bullshit, Richards,” Sam mutters, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“So,” Reed says, and it’s then that Steve notices the dull hum of movement around him.

 

Bucky notices it at the same time, too.  “They’re all fucking there!” he exclaims, turning toward Steve, “They’re all there, watching him tell us we’re about to be obliterated, probably.”

 

“Calm down,” Steve snaps, not looking away from the screen where Reed is stalling.

 

“Here’s the gist,” a new voice says, and then Clint Barton steps into the frame.

 

Natasha’s next exhale doesn’t come.

 

“This load of shitheads didn’t tell you that they knew a major storm was directly in your path,” Clint says, and then the room around him explodes before the screen goes dark.

 

“Wait,” Steve says.  He can feel the energy bristling around him, but he knows there’s more.  They can’t have just left them with that hanging between them.

 

And then the video cuts away, and a concise report comes up.

 

_Please standby.  To be discussed in next media exchange.  Please advise—storm is approaching.  Severity will be monitored.  Estimated arrival: 1 month._

“Fuck you, NASA,” Natasha hisses, and then she turns, stalking away.

 

“Nat, wait,” Steve says, not looking away from the screen, “We have to talk about this.”

 

“They—” her voice breaks, and her shoulders hitch up as she swallows down whatever is threatening to bubble to the surface.  “Fuck _them_ ,” she says finally, and Steve lets her go this time.

 

When she’s sure they won’t hear her anymore, she starts running, and she barely makes it into her room before her inhales are sharp and painful.  “Please,” she whispers, tearing open her laptop and logging into her personal drive.  She holds her breath as the media dump loads, and then she opens up Clint’s video, and she stops trying not to fall apart.

 

“Hey,” he says softly.  He looks different from the NASA conference room, and then she recognizes where he is—in their bedroom, tucked up in one of her ratty old sweatshirts.

 

“Hi,” she says, shattering just a little more, as she touches the edge of the screen.

 

He smiles and closes his eyes like he knew she was going to do that.  When he opens them again, he looks sad.  “I know you’ve probably just seen the message from Reed.  They invited me along because I had just discovered the strange weather patterns approaching you, and when I asked Reed about it, he was evasive, and then I started digging.  I don’t know if they cut before I got onscreen, but basically, they knew about the storm, Nat.  They knew before they even announced the mission to the public.  They’ve always known, and they hid it from you.  It doesn’t seem like such a massive secret when you look at it at face value, but then, a few of us in the lab got to thinking that something didn’t really look right about it, so we dug a little more.  I guess this is me telling you that if you only just found out that they’re worried about the storm, they also knew about it and kept it from you.  I don’t even know if you’ll get this, but I recorded it a few days before they held the conference, so hopefully they don’t think I’ve said anything.  Nat, I—I miss you so much.  I hope you’re going to be okay.  Please be okay,” he whispers this last bit, and Natasha dissolves, curling up with her laptop in her bunk.

 

——

 

_2000 hours_

Peter doesn’t look up when the door to the observatory slides open, instead continues to watch them careen through space, headed blindly toward a storm that NASA knew about, fucking _knew about_ , and still sent them headlong into it.

 

“Come mope over here,” Johnny’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks over to find Johnny setting up a mess of blankets and pillows on the floor next to the domed window.

 

“Did you steal those from everyone else’s bunks?” Peter asks, not moving.

 

“Only the ones that said I could.  I asked,” he says, “I promise.  Come here.”

 

Peter just shakes his head, his frown deepening.  “They knew what we were flying toward, what we would have to maneuver through.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have every ounce of faith in Sam and Bucky that they can get us through, and in Tony that Icarus is strong enough to withstand it, and in Steve that he thought was making the right decision still allowing us to go, but they could have prepared us.  What if we didn’t want to go knowing the risks?  I can’t even imagine what’s going through Natasha’s head right now,” he trails off, closing his eyes as he tries desperately not to cry.

 

He can hear Johnny moving, and then he’s next to him, folding his arms around Peter and resting his chin on his shoulder.  “There are always risks,” Johnny whispers into his neck, “A space storm is just another one of the many.”

 

“But NASA _knew_ ,” Peter murmurs, “They knew, and they didn’t tell us.  All of the other risks, we plan for.”

 

“We planned for space storms.”

 

“Not of this magnitude.  Not something that we know, that we’ve known for _years_ , is bad.  Johnny, this is different, this is—get off me.”  He yanks himself out of Johnny’s grasp and jerks to his feet.  Johnny follows him, taking Peter’s hand and punching him in the arm when he tries to pull away.

 

“Stop being a brat,” he says, and Peter rounds on him, but Johnny beats him to it, “Will you please come over to the window with me?”

 

“Whatever, fuck you,” Peter says, pulling loose from Johnny and folding his arms across his chest.

 

“Alright, fucktrain,” Johnny sighs, and then he’s dropping a shoulder and hefting Peter into the air, who lets out an embarrassing squawk and clings to Johnny.

 

“What the shit, man!” Peter yells, kicking with his legs.

 

“You’re going to kick someone’s eye out,” Johnny says, dodging a flying leg as he carries Peter over to the window.

 

“That’s the point, moron!  Put me down!”

 

Johnny dumps him unceremoniously onto the pile of blankets and pillows, gives Peter a swift kick in the back of the knees when he scrambles upright, and presses down with one hand on his head as he drops next to him.

 

“You’re the worst,” Peter says, ducking out from under his hand and pushing upright again.

 

Johnny grabs him, hauls him down between his legs, and octopuses him.  “Johnny!” Peter shouts, using his strength to loosen Johnny’s arms.

 

“Peter, just—fuck, just relax.”

 

“I don’t want to!” Peter explodes, finally getting free.  He’s breathing heavy, and his glare is murderous when he turns to Johnny.  “What the fuck is your problem?  We just found out NASA willingly sent us into a massive storm, and you want to cuddle and watch the stars?  Jesus, Johnny, why do you have to be such a fucking child?”

 

“It’s not just the stars, you scum bucket.”

 

“The fuck are you—”

 

Johnny points, Peter turns, and then he sits, heavily, his body just giving out beneath him.  “ _Oh_ ,” he exhales.

 

“I can’t believe you just called me a child,” Johnny says, rearranging their pillows before he pulls Peter back with him.

 

“You are a child,” Peter says, relaxing against him, head pillowed on his chest as he watches the red planet slowly appear.  “I feel like—” he breaks off, tapping Johnny’s chest.

 

“Yeah, like it’s hard to breathe,” Johnny says as he looks down at Peter, smiling at him as he watches Mars.

 

——

 

_2200 hours_

Tony has been standing outside of Steve’s door for three minutes when it opens.  He’s been trying to decide if he actually wants to participate in a conversation with him—or anyone, really—after that disaster earlier, but he feels like he can’t swallow it all down, and he doesn’t want to bother Bruce right now.

 

“Oh,” Tony says, and he almost word vomits all of this at Steve when he’s suddenly face to face with him, “Hi.”  


“Hey,” Steve says, startled, “Were you—what were you doing?”

 

“You were just going to use the word lurking, weren’t you?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Steve says around a frown.

 

Tony opens his mouth, exhales loudly when he can’t figure out how to phrase it, and then lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, mouth pinching to the side.  Steve waits him out, and really, Tony’s more grateful for that than anything because it gives him a second to bottle up the swelling tide of fear—angergriefuncertaintynauseahelphelp _help_ —and form actual human words, “Are you busy?”

 

“No,” Steve says, though he’s wearing fitted pants and a similar shirt, clearly heading for the gym, “What do you need?”

 

“Need,” Tony repeats because _god_ , yes, that’s exactly the thing that’s crawling through him, “I just—”

 

He looks away and closes his eyes.  He doesn’t know why this is so difficult.  Steve starts to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to hear it, whatever it’s going to be, and so he just word vomits at him, “I just can’t deal with this.  It’s—it’s gnawing at me.  Like, _fuck_ , Steve.  They _knew_.  They knew what they were sending us into, and they didn’t even tell you, but I know why because you’re—fucking noble is what you are, and you would have told all of us, and I can’t bet you anything Nat and Peter and Wanda would have thought differently about coming up here.  But it didn’t fucking matter to NASA because they were sending nobodies up, people that didn’t matter, and it’s like this weight—in my fucking chest, and I don’t—what,” he breaks off abruptly as Steve steps out of his room and into Tony’s space.

 

“I know,” Steve says, and then Tony’s deflating, shoulders sagging as he lets the fight drain out of him.  “Can I—”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony whispers, the last shred of his dignity sailing away into the sun as he lets Steve hug him.  It’s warm here, and safe.  It’s somewhere Tony could get lost.  “Why are you not freaking out?” he mumbles into Steve’s chest.

 

He feels Steve’s exhale shift their bodies, and then Steve leans his forehead against Tony’s shoulder.  “I am,” he says quietly.

 

“Well then,” Tony says before he pats Steve’s back once and ducks out from around him, “Before anyone thinks this was awkward, I have a remedy for both of us.”

 

Steve quirks an eyebrow, a tiny smile that barely shows his amusement lifting the corners of his mouth.  “What kind of remedy?” he asks.

 

“Just trust me.  Or don’t,” he adds as he walks away, “I know none of you do, but—maybe do it for the next, say, eight minutes.”

 

“That’s a very specific time,” Steve says, and that’s all that’s left between them as they make their way through Icarus, winding through in a direction Steve can’t identify until they’re coming upon a bridge that they very rarely, if ever, use.  It’s ancillary, but Tony’s wealth and name had forced it onto the ship, and he’d never seen the use in it until right now, when Tony presses a hand to the reader and says, “Jarvis, lift shields.”

 

The door opens as the shields roll back on the bridge, slowly so that Steve isn’t sure what Tony’s playing at until he stops in the middle of the bridge and sits down.  “Tony,” he sighs.

 

“My eight minutes aren’t up yet,” Tony says, holding up a hand.

 

Though begrudgingly, he sits beside Tony, ignoring his hand.  He watches the shields go up, and he almost misses why they’re here because he’s busy thinking about what the hell they’re going to do, and then Tony leans into him, sides flush together, and he looks down.

 

Mars sits in the near distance, beautiful and dusky, everything and nothing Steve has ever dreamed of.  Even Tony, who had been enjoying the nearness of Steve, straightens when he sees it.  There’s nothing that compares.

 

“I don’t even care anymore,” Steve says softly, not looking away.  He thinks of all the stories he’s heard, how he’d stared, wide-eyed, as Mark Watney stood at the center of one of his classes, lecturing them on space rules, which didn’t exist and were always changing, how he’d felt looking over at the Earth from the Moon, and he finds it’s hard to breathe.

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, reaching over for his hand, and Steve lets him.  Their fingers tangled together, they remain.  As the minutes tick by, Tony starts to subconsciously mimic Steve’s soothing rhythm of breaths, and then he leans into him again, head tipping onto his shoulder as he lets this moment overwhelm all else.

 

——

 

_July 24, 2072_

_0900 hours_

_Steve: Six month meeting at 1300 hours today.  Please be on time._

_Johnny: This feels like a big deal._

_Natasha: It’s a milestone, guys.  We’re going steady._

_Sam: With space?  Fuck yeah._

_Natasha: With Icarus, you moron.  Space doesn’t want none of your kinky shit._

_Sam: Hey!  Those are personal files!_

_Peter: You shouldn’t leave everything so open.  It’s like hacking into NASA.  Easy as pie._

_Sam: NASA has to release anything they receive within twenty-four hours, idiot._

_Johnny: Point proven._

_Johnny: Have you guys seen Mars yet?_

_Tony: Is this a real question?_

_Tony: Is this happening?_

_Tony: Did I miss something?_

_Tony: Have we not been floating on by for a few weeks now?_

_Johnny: You’d think, with your level of intelligence, we wouldn’t get a chance to flyby so slowly._

_Tony: Uh, why do you think it’s taking us three years instead of two and a half, ass viper?_

_Steve: There are just so many things to address in that sentence._

_Peter: Ass viper?_

_Peter; Insult theft.  I’ll be using that in my next verbal war._

_Wanda: What even is that?  I feel like it would be painful._

_Peter: Vipers that bite you in the ass?_

_Sam: Wait for it._

_Peter: OH MY GOD_

_Peter: TONY THAT’S SO FUCKED UP_

_Tony: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA_

_Bucky: I honestly don’t get it._

_Sam: Wait for it._

_Bucky: What_

_Bucky: OH WHAT THE FUCK_

_Johnny: Venomous assholes.  I’m going to fucking die.  Right now._

_Sam: Do you want help out the airlock?_

_Sam: :)_

_Johnny: I’ll toss your smoky ass out the airlock so fast, you won’t even have time to blink._

_Sam: FIRST_

_Natasha: Smoky ass._

_Natasha: Sam, get your fine smoky ass on over here._

_Sam: OKAY_

_Sam: GUYS I’M GONNA BE LATE FOR THE MEETING_

_Bruce: I’m sorry, are we just ignoring the fact that Tony tacked an extra six months onto this trip to slow down by Mars?_

_Tony: That is so not what I said._

_Tony: It was only a month._

_Tony: And Bucky agreed to help._

_Bucky: I did not!_

_Tony: Yeah, but your password did._

_Bucky: You can’t just hack in and alter our course, Tony!_

_Bucky: Steve, what the fuck!_

_Steve: I thought this was common knowledge?_

_Bucky: WHAT_

_Wanda: Someone wasn’t paying attention during one of the rousing speeches about interplanetary space travel._

_Peter: “And though I wouldn’t normally attempt to sway the vote, I’d like to bring to the table a slower thrust volume as we flyby Mars because Mars is fucking awesome.”_

_Sam: I believed in you for so long.  And then you ruined it._

_Tony: Steve doesn’t swear.  He’s too old for that._

_Tony: Geysers explode if they have too much fun._

_Tony: It was probably more like, “In honor of the great Ares crew who made Mars their home, we shall slow and pay homage to their tutelage.”_

_Steve: Fuck you, Tony._

_Sam: AAAAAAAAAYYYYY_

_Sam: WHAT’S UP CAP_

_Johnny: No, but really.  Have you guys seen Mars yet today?_

_Peter: That was not the original question._

_Johnny: We’re right on top of it, and it’s fucking huge._

_Johnny: Steve, I’m postponing the meeting until everyone comes to look at this beautiful big ass planet._

_Steve: Again, there are so many things to address in that sentence._

_Bucky: Watch out, he’s about to pull the “you can’t call me Steve anymore” card._

_Peter: Mars isn’t even close to one of the biggest planets, ass viper._

_Tony: Too soon._

_Peter: Please don’t be disappointed in me._

_Tony: How far away are we?_

_Peter: Don’t quote me, but probably just over or under 3.5 AU._

_Tony: You can stay._

_Steve: Meeting still stands at 1300 hours._

_Johnny: Buzzkill._

_Steve: I’ll see you fifteen minutes beforehand._

_Sam: ooooooooooh_

——

 

_1300 hours_

“I’m just saying, imagine how cool it would be to be out there when the storm hits,” Tony says, his face alit with excitement just at the thought of it, “We would be able to bring so much data back in.”

 

“If you want to die,” Peter mutters, looking up from his tablet as Wanda and Sam enter.

 

“Please,” Tony says, waving a hand dismissively in Peter’s direction, “It’s not even going to be that bad.”

 

“Seriously, Tony?” Peter says, finally turning his attention on him, “NASA hid it from us, that’s how bad it is.”

 

“Calm your hormones,” Tony says, “Anyway—”

 

“No!” Peter exclaims, sweeping a hand across his tablet to shut it down, “Don’t just move on to talk about how _cool_ it would be.  It’s going to be dangerous, and we should be preparing to hunker down and wait it out, not imagining what it would be like to be in it.”

 

“Maybe I’m not going to imagine,” Tony says.

 

“If you’re honestly thinking about going out there in it, then you’d be just as good floating untethered right now.  That’s _suicide_.”

 

“Okay, really,” Tony snaps, “If I wanted to commit suicide, I would have done it long before I had to get on board and listen to you whine and worry about every fucking issue that comes up.  We’re in _space_ , Parker, get used to it.”

 

“God, it’s like you don’t even care,” Peter says, shoving away from the table as he stands, “This isn’t some kind of joke, Tony, it’s real people in real life trying to take steps toward bettering humanity, or had you forgotten we actually had work to do, and not just fun times to fuck around?”

 

“Peter,” Steve’s voice says before Tony can respond, though Tony looks livid.

 

Peter looks away from Tony sharply and over to Steve, his shoulders hitched high up toward his ears, his hands in fists at his sides.  “Captain,” he says, the word coming out hard and short.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

Peter looks back at Tony, who leans back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest, and Peter almost loses it when one of his eyebrows quirks up.  Instead, he sits down stiffly and says, “Yes, sir.  I’m sorry.”

 

Steve frowns.  “What—”

 

“It’s a little past one,” Bucky cuts him off, seeing it all over Peter’s face, “Who are we missing?”

 

“I’m sure they’ll be here in a few,” Steve says distractedly.  He’s never seen Peter anything but excited, whether nervously or happily so, and it’s strange to see the way he sits now, rigid and clearly with more to say.

 

The others filter in, and then they begin.  “We’ll start with mission reports,” Steve says, “Wanda?”

 

“The greenroom is incredible,” she says happily, “We have a few vegetables outside of tomatoes now, and they’ll be ready for picking soon.  We’ll be able to have real food for some of our meals.  I’ve been conducting experiments on Martian and lunar soil, as well, to record their reactions so that I have something to compare when we arrive on Europa.”

 

“Excellent,” Steve says, “Natasha and Betty?”

 

“I’ve actually been working with Tony a lot recently,” Natasha says, “In an effort to better understand the drills that we’ll be using the penetrate the ice.  We’ve been running tests on its effects on purified samples and trying to lessen any potential damage to the natural habitat of the water.  Also, you know, pitching theories to Betty about potential microorganisms.”

 

“Oh, there are so many amazing possibilities,” Betty sighs, “We have enough data to work out what’s actually realistic and what’s just ridiculous, and though I hate to get my hopes up, there are some things I really do hope that we find there.  I’ve been running some tests on our organic samples from Earth in an attempt to simulate how Europa’s potential components might react.”

 

“All good,” Steve says, “Bruce?”

 

“I am missing—” he checks a list, “—three physicals.  Wanda, Johnny, and Bucky, I need to send my findings back to headquarters by the end of the week, so please see me as soon as possible.  Otherwise, everyone is in good health, even the lucky few I have been testing with gravitational and radiation effects.  Low levels,” Bruce adds at Steve’s expression, “Nothing harmful long-term.”

 

“Did you have permission from these individuals?”

 

“Yes,” Tony answers for him, “Johnny and I were bored.”

 

Steve closes his eyes for a moment before he says, “Please only try to kill one of our engineers.”

 

Bruce smiles even as he starts writing.  “Fair enough,” he says, “Tony, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

Tony barks a laugh, and Johnny starts to complain, but Steve says, “No thanks.  Report, please?”

 

“Electrical currents are finally fixed,” Johnny says, “Though don’t quote me because I would have said that three months ago.  There’s some kind of frequency that’s making Icarus unhappy.  It’s nothing to really worry about, but we’re keeping on top of it just in case.  Everything else looks good.”

 

“Engines and fuel usage are above stellar,” Tony says, “We’re running at full capacity, and we’re doing so much better than I expected.  I’ll reevaluate after the storm, but we should be good.  Bucky and I—” he pauses as he looks over at Bucky, who nods, “—were discussing gathering samples from the storm.”

 

“You were _serious_?” Peter says suddenly, gaze jerking over to him, “You really are a fucking moron.”

 

“Peter,” Steve says, looking over in surprise.

 

“You can’t actually be considering allowing this—this _lunacy_.”

 

“I mean, we’re kind of far away from the moon, so lunacy might be the wrong word,” Tony says.

 

“Tony, don’t—” Steve starts.

 

“Oh, fuck _you_ , Tony,” Peter spits, “It’s one thing to try to get yourself killed, but don’t drag Bucky into this just because you’re too chicken shit to go outside yourself.”

 

“Holla!” Johnny exclaims.

 

“Peter, that’s enough,” Steve says.

 

“Oh, really?” Tony counters, leaning forward as his mouth splits into a nasty smile, “I’d like to see you suit up and get out there.  Or—wait, sorry, I forgot.  You’ve never been in space.”

 

“I’ve never been given the opportunity,” Peter says angrily, “I was too busy studying to become the youngest astronaut in NASA history.”

 

“Oh, big boy, got your nose stuck in a book while the rest of us were busy actually making a difference.”

 

“Alright!” Steve yells, his hands slamming down on the table as he stands, “Enough!”

 

“This is ridiculous!” Peter exclaims, rounding on Steve, “You’re actually going to agree with him.  No!” he says when Steve starts to talk, “I can see it from here.  It doesn’t matter how _stupid_ it is to go outside during something like that, you’re still going to let him because you have some kind of fucking blind spot when it comes to him.  I don’t understand how you can just let him get away with this kind of shit.  He—”

 

“That is _enough_ ,” Steve says, his voice dropping low and quiet, and it gives Peter pause.  “What is your report for the last six months?”

 

“What does it matter?” Peter snaps, his chair scraping back as he stands, “It’s just—”

 

“ _Parker_.  Your report?”

 

“I’ve been helping this moron—” he jerks a hand at Johnny, “—fix the electrical currents fucking with Icarus.  Other than that, monitoring the artificial gravity and comms, tweaking anything that seems off.  Why?”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, “You are dismissed and confined to quarters for insubordination and verbal assault on another crew member.  Your duties will be assigned to someone else, and you will report to me every morning to be assigned a task, to report again once completed.”

 

Peter opens his mouth, but Johnny speaks over him, “Dude, just go.”

 

Steve waits until he’s gone before he looks around at them, still standing, and says, “I have had it with the collective attitude on this ship.  I do not want to work the next two and a half years not speaking to any of you outside of giving orders and taking reports, but if I have to remove every ounce of comradery, I will not hesitate.  The way you have acted thus far would have resulted in far worse action if it had been reported back to NASA, but I have tried to respond fairly and with a level of understanding that interplanetary space travel is exciting as well as challenging.  Please do not force me to turn this into an operation similar to a military assignment.”

 

Thick, awful silence follows his words until Sam nods and says, “Copy that, Captain.”

 

He gets similar responses from the rest of the crew, and then says, “Sam and Bucky, report?”

 

“We’ve been monitoring the flight trajectory to Europa,” Bucky says, “Everything looks intact, though we will also reevaluate after the storm.  We had a slight hiccup when we were approaching Mars, but we recalculated to bring us farther away from its orbit.”

 

“Also, way cool thing,” Sam says, grinning, “We should be able to see Phobos tonight.”

 

“Bad _ass_ ,” Tony says, “I vote we have a moon gazing party.”

 

Steve sighs wearily and says, “I’ll leave it to you to organize.  Okay, any issues to address?”

 

“Tony wasn’t wrong when he said we had been discussing going out into the storm,” Bucky says.

 

“Elaborate,” Steve says before anyone else can pick a fight.

 

“We wanted to bring it to the table just in case anyone had better ideas.  Obviously, I, at least, understand the full volume of danger that this storm presents, but I think it would also be incredibly beneficial to go out into the eye of it, to collect data from any lingering traces of _anything_ or alterations in the usual makeup of space that we’ve been traveling through.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t understand the gravity of the situation, it’s—” Tony starts laughing loudly, and it takes a full four seconds before the rest of them catch on, and then even Steve’s smiling in his direction.  “Jesus, sorry,” Tony says, catching his breath, “I didn’t even mean that one.  I get it,” he adds, looking to Bucky, “But I’m more on the science is fucking cool side, and I want to get out there.”

 

“Why the two of you?” Steve asks.

 

“On the surface level, Tony is listed as our primary electrical and mechanical engineer, yes, but he has several degrees in other fields, one of which is astrophysics.”

 

“Because space is fucking cool,” Tony says, “Also, Bucky’s a pilot and has done more EVAs than any of us.”

 

Steve holds Tony’s gaze for a moment before he directs his attention to Bucky and says, “Unless anyone can propose a safer idea, it’s been approved.  If you have anything,” he says to the others, “please develop past a basic dismissal and into a cohesive argument.  Do we have anything else to discuss?”

 

“I’m exhausted,” Bruce says.

 

“Agreed.  I move to cease all duties for the afternoon and hang out in the observatory.”

 

“Oh, totally seconded,” Bucky says, lifting a hand.

 

There’s a similar reaction across the table, and then Steve dismisses them to do whatever they please with the rest of the day.  When they start filtering off, talking quiet amongst themselves, Steve leans back in his chair, head tipping back as he reaches up to massage his temples lightly, eyes closing.

 

A hand brushes across the line of his jaw before Tony’s fingers are digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders.  “I’d like to formally apologize for being a complete asshole to Peter earlier,” he says as he nudges Steve forward until he’s sitting straight, chin tucked down.

 

“Apologize to him, not me,” Steve says quietly, “ _Jesus_.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, pressing his thumb along a knotted muscle, “You need to chill out.  Also, your hair is long,” he adds when he tugs on a hanging strand.

 

“I meant to ask Nat to cut it,” Steve mumbles.

 

“How about this,” Tony says, slapping one of his shoulders before he steps back, “I’ll do both?”

 

It takes a moment, but Steve lifts his head and looks over at him.  “Both?”

 

“One of my less public degrees is in massage therapy,” Tony says, giving him jazz fingers, “Bruce and I took the course together.  He was trying to become more well-rounded, and I was bored one week.  Also, I can probably cut your hair without fucking it up.”

 

“Yeah, not sure I trust you with scissors,” Steve admits.

 

Tony smiles, “That’s fair.  The other half?”  Steve considers.  It really wouldn’t be his worst idea; or, at least, he hopes so.  He shrugs one shoulder, winces when it hurts, and laughs halfheartedly.  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Tony says, and his usually playful tone is laced with something like concern, “I’ll get my stuff and see you in your quarters in ten?  Or, if you want to really pull that stick out of your ass, you could come back to mine.”

 

“What the hell,” Steve says, “Why not.  Lead the way.”

 

Tony just grins and heads off, not looking back to see if Steve is following.

 

——

 

It’s— _not_ the worst idea Steve’s ever had.  He won’t admit it, probably ever, but it’s easily the most relaxed he’s felt since he first found out he had been chosen as captain of the Europa Expedition.  _Europa_.  It still throws him for a loop sometimes, that they’re going there, that they’re taking this enormous step.

 

“You think loud,” Tony says, one of his thumbs sweeping up under Steve’s shoulder blade and pressing in.

 

Steve sighs, head sinking forward a little at how _good_ that feels, someone else working out the stress in his body.  “We’re almost there,” he says.

 

“We—what?” Tony says, frowning at Steve’s back.

 

“Not to Europa,” Steve clarifies, “We’re almost farther than anyone else has ever gone.”

 

“If I take one more step, Mister Frodo, it’ll be the farthest away from home I’ve ever been,” Tony quotes at him.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Steve laughs, “You are way too evil to be Sam.”  Tony snorts, but doesn’t respond, and so Steve goes on, “I remember when the Ares program began.  I keep thinking about it, particularly because we’re so close to Mars now.  After Watney, the testing they did was endless, and even then, we still didn’t go back up.  Do you remember how desperately NASA tried to get a fourth Ares mission approved?  They already had the HAB there, and though the MAV is gone, it wouldn’t take too much to speed up building on the Ares V MAV to get it there.  Sure, the mission might be delayed, but we could have done it.  And no one would let us.  The day they announced the official shutdown of the Ares Program was the day my father told me that I should start thinking about a backup plan.”

 

“Did you?” Tony asks, expecting him to say yes.

 

“No,” Steve says, and Tony pauses, nods, and moves to his other shoulder, “I just—I knew.  I knew we were going to go back up into space, but I never thought—I mean, we’re going to _Europa_.  I used to think a Mars visit sounded crazy.  That long in space?  How did they ever come back still close to normal?  How did they not just—”

 

“Kill each other?” Tony supplies.

  
“Kind of,” Steve admits, “How are not going to?”

 

“Well,” Tony says, hands sliding up toward Steve’s neck, grinning when he immediately tucks his chin in toward his chest, “I think we’re a pretty good example.  Never thought I’d get you naked in my room before.”

 

Steve groans.  “Tony, seriously?”

 

“I am being serious,” Tony says, flicking his ear before he digs his thumbs along the line of his skull, “You despised me, and vice versa.  If I could have sabotaged that engine and left you floating on the moon, I might have.  But now, we’re figuring it out.  We know that we’re going to be in space for close to a decade, so our brains are refocusing on what’s important.  Human brains are a tricky thing.  They know how to adapt to almost any situation.  We’ve got this, Cap.”

 

“I hope,” Steve says, sighing after when Tony’s hands shift away and start to move lower down his back.  He can’t remember the last time someone was this careful with him, the last time he was _touched_ like this.  It feels like ages ago that he and Bucky stopped trying to make them work, stopped pretending that it didn’t feel like two strangers coming together every time they fell into bed.  They were better as friends, but Steve was starting to think that maybe he and Tony were not better as enemies, rather—something else, something that was starting to become a little more than just captain and engineer.

 

“Still thinking loud,” Tony says, his breath ghosting out over Steve’s ribcage.

 

Steve closes his eyes, tries not to think about the way his warm breath stirs something rooted and hidden in his blood.  He doesn’t want to do this.  He knows what this is, and he doesn’t—he _can’t_.

 

“There’s a lot to think about,” he says instead of the million and one other things crashing through his head.

 

“Well,” Tony says, hand sweeping out over his side before it rotates back down to knead lightly at his lower back, “Allow yourself to just chill out for a little bit.  You’re not Captain Rogers right now, just Steve.  It’s okay to not think for a few minutes.”

 

Steve inhales deeply, and nods as he exhales.  He’ll worry about it later.

 

——

 

_1500 hours_

That was definitely one of his worst ideas, Tony concludes.  After Steve is loose and pliant, he sends him on his way, carefully distancing himself while Steve dressed, tried to make small talk, realized Tony was cold shouldering him, and finally left.  When he’s gone, Tony collapses on his bed, hands pressed against his chest in a valiant effort _not_ to think about how hard he is, and quite nearly fails.

 

He thanks about seven deities when a text alert comes through, and it’s from Peter.

 

_Peter: Can we talk?_

_Tony: I’ll come to you._

_Peter: Thank you._

He pauses by the communal bathroom to throw some cold water on his face, rakes a hand through his hair, and then heads off down the hall toward Peter’s room.  The living quarters are broken up to give them a little privacy, but they’re still all in the same section of the ship, and so it takes barely thirty seconds before he’s knocking on Peter’s door.

 

Peter lets him in, looking tired and worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.  Johnny is nowhere to be seen, for which Tony is grateful.  Peter doesn’t speak at first, instead avoiding Tony’s gaze and standing anxiously in the middle of the room.

 

Finally, Tony knocks his fist against Peter’s shoulder and says, “Dude, we both suck.  Bucky and I are going out into the storm to collect data, not to be stupid, and while you should have not attacked me in front of the whole crew, I should have handled my response better.  It was bad on both ends.  We’re over it, and moving on.  Will you help me plan this moon gazing thing?”  Peter peeks up at him, and Tony sighs, rolling his eyes.  “If I let you hug it out, will you stop moping?”  Peter nods.  “Fucking _fine_.”

 

Peter steps in immediately, winding his arms around Tony as Tony tries to show him that it’s _okay_ , that nothing awful is going to happen because he knows Peter isn’t mad about them going out into the storm, he’s terrified of what might happen to _him_ , to the person he’s starting to see as some kind of figure Tony really isn’t ready to be.  “Are we good?” Tony asks into his mess of hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbles, stepping back, “So, Phobos?”

 

“I mean, personally, I prefer Deimos, but whatever.”

 

Peter smiles, and Tony considers his previous bad idea cancelled out just for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI, I'M EXCITED. I just finished writing year one of the travel section of this, so this is posted early in celebration. That means I'm five chapters ahead of you guys, and I'm really happy about that because it gives me time to keep slacking off. Translation: I'm all done for tonight, time to go watch _Preacher_!
> 
> On an actual fic note, two very cool things happened in today's writing marathon--superhusbands and more space drama. Even though you haven't gotten to the first space drama yet, WHICH IS COMING VERY SOON, HOLY MOLY. But hey, so superhusbands is officially a thing by the end of part one of the travel section. Awesome, right?
> 
> Okay, I'm seriously off to go watch _Preacher_ , and if you're like, what the heck are you talking about, it's a possessed preacher, his ex-girlfriend, and an Irish vampire searching for the meaning of life. I KNOW. IT'S AMAZING. BYE.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their eighth month of interplanetary space travel, the crew of Icarus tries desperately not to die.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: icarus]_

_[password: europa]_

_Message Subject: Impending Storm_

“It’s from Reed,” Steve says as Bucky dumps into the seat next to him.

 

It’s just the three of them, for now—Steve, Bucky, and Tony—though they plan on showing the rest of the crew the video after they’ve had a chance to better evaluate their situation.

 

“Hello, Icarus crew,” Reed says as the video starts playing, “I know it has been some time since our last video communication, though I’m sure you can understand why.  We were wary about the storm, but did not think its significance bad enough to warrant a discussion.  We do apologize for Clint Barton’s previous outburst and would like to impart some information to better prepare you.”

 

Bucky folds his arms across his chest, glaring at the screen.  Steve remains neutral, waiting.  Tony, to everyone’s surprise, is poised with a tablet, clicking away as he takes notes and sketches out different formulas.

 

“We have escalated the storm to a level five, and thus, we have sent schematics to Steve, Bucky, and Tony so that they might better understand the impact on the ship.  Please maintain a level of professionalism when this storm does hit.  We do not expect it to do any lasting damage on Icarus, but we are wary nonetheless, and so we ask that you please follow protocol accordingly.  Various storm-related tasks have been distributed to each crew member, which you are to carry out in order to collect data.  Thank you.”

 

“Maintain a level of professionalism,” Tony mutters, his fingers hitting his tablet a little harder.

 

“What he’s not saying,” Bucky says, getting up, “is that we’re fucked.”

 

Steve doesn’t respond because he doesn’t disagree.

 

——

 

_August 30, 2072_

_0800 hours_

Most of them are alone when it happens.

 

It’s still early when Peter drifts off in the middle of his breach check because he’s nearby the labs and heads into the greenroom.  He doesn’t spot Wanda right away, but he’s quick to grab onto something when he steps through the door and his feet immediately leave the ground.

 

“Wanda?” he calls, gripping the doorway, “Is your artificial gravity busted?”

 

“Stupid question,” Wanda says from somewhere nearby just before she floats over toward him, grabs his free hand, and hauls him away from the door.  “I need your help.”  He follows her through the rungs at the top of the greenhouse and over to a pipe that looks— _wrong_.  “I know,” she says at his expression, “All of a sudden, there was this big creaking noise, and then I was floating.  I think whatever happened to the gravity in the room messed up the pipe.  Can you help me fix it?”

 

“Sure,” Peter says, pulling himself to a stop and reaching out for one of the ropes Wanda has harnessed onto another, thicker pipe.  He latches on, and though he’s not really anchored, Wanda latches onto him and a pipe opposite him, effectively pulling him to a taut enough halt.  He gets to work investigating the issue, and he’s about to warn Wanda that he’s going to unscrew the pipe when the lights go out.

 

“Don’t panic,” Tony’s voice immediately comes over the intercom.

 

“Usually, when someone says don’t panic, people panic,” Johnny immediately comes back with, “What happened?”

 

“Hang on, running a systems check.  Johnny, stay where you are.  I’ll provide direction in a second.  Steve, can you meet me in the operations console?”

 

“Fuck,” Bruce’s voice rings clear, “Artificial gravity just fucking lost control in the bay.”

 

“Happened a few minutes ago in the greenroom,” Wanda reports, “Messed up one of my pipes.”

 

“Well, I’ve got—shit, sharp needles everywhere.  Oh.  There’s a—”

 

“Don’t leave your crap hanging around, then,” Betty says, “I’m on my way to you.  I have—flashlights, yes.  I’ll distribute them on the way.”

 

She must not be in the lab because she doesn’t duck into the greenroom first, and so instead Peter digs around in his pockets, swearing when he finds that he didn’t pack his flashlight.  He would have noticed eventually—some of the breaches he checks for are a little hidden—but that doesn’t do him any good now.

 

“Hang on,” Wanda says into the dark, “I’m going to untether from you.”

 

Peter grabs onto the pipe again, and then waits as he listens to her breathing get farther away.  “ _Shit_ ,” she says, and then Peter hears her feet touch the ground, “Okay, knocked over something, but I’m on the ground, under the tables.”

 

She falls quiet, and Peter closes his eyes.  He hates this.  He hates thinking about what might come next.

 

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” Tony says, and then there’s a loud blaring noise, “Sorry!  Don’t panic!”

 

“I feel like we should be fucking panicking!” Johnny shouts.

 

“Nope, just—hang on, I’m—what the—fuck, Steve, don’t creep up on me like that!” Tony exclaims, and a quiet laughter runs through the comms.

 

“Artificial gravity just crashed in the operations console,” Steve says over the alarm, which dissipates a few seconds later, “Alarm sounded due to a slipped hand.”

 

“A slipped hand?” Tony grumbles, “Lucky I wasn’t playing with anything fun.”

 

“Bucky, have you reached the observation room yet?” Steve asks.

 

“Almost there.  Fucking hard without the lights on,” he mutters.

 

“I’m working on it.  Honestly, how easy do you think it is for me to get them on when I can’t fucking see anyway considering we’re in— _oh god_.”

 

“Wanda!” Peter yells, and he hates that his voice cracks a hair into hysteria, “Come back!”

 

“I’m tethering to one of the tables,” Wanda says, “Peter, hold on.”

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tony says over the comms.

 

“Anchor yourselves!” Steve yells.

 

“Oh my god,” Bucky gasps, “It’s right in front of us.”

 

“Can we panic now?” Sam asks.

 

“Wanda,” Peter says desperately, pushing away from the pipe in front of him and back toward the thick one, curling around it, “Are you safe?”

 

“Safe as life,” she whispers into the dark, “How far away do you think it is?”

 

“Report on positions,” Steve says, his voice calmer than before.

 

“Locking down the observatory, tethered to one of the walls,” Bucky says.

 

“Bruce and I got out of the bay, tethering to the hallway outside,” Betty says.

 

“Anchored in the flight deck,” Sam says.

 

There’s silence, and Peter realizes he can hear Wanda’s breathing, loud and out of control.  “Wanda’s tethered to one of the tables in the greenroom, but something’s wrong.  I’m unhooking to help her.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Wanda growls out, and Peter stays.

 

“Anchored in the lab,” Natasha says.

 

Silence reigns again, and Steve finally breaks it, “Johnny?”

 

“I’m—”

 

There’s a sudden disconnect, like steel wires grating over one another, and a stillness settles over Icarus, like nothing Peter has ever experienced before.

 

He thinks this must be what he used to dream of, what floating in space felt like before he really knew.  He’d always dreamed of being weightless, of nothingness ringing in his ears as he stared out at the stars.  It had been a childish dream, he knows now, but he feels drawn back to that moment, and he can’t quite catch his breath at the thought of what that means.

 

Icarus is quiet.

 

Peter had learned very quickly that the idea of silence in space was usually followed by catastrophe.

 

——

 

“Tony,” Steve whispers, not looking away from the mass of colors and utter darkness approaching them, “What was that?”

 

“Comms are down,” Tony says hoarsely, “We’re floating dead.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“If we were a submarine, we would be sinking.”

 

“What does that _mean_?”

 

Tony looks over at Steve, who is staring back at him.  Before either of them can speak, Icarus shudders around for them.  “It means,” Tony says, looking back toward the storm, “Prepare for impact.”

 

——

 

Johnny is by the engines—the fucking _engines_ —with no discernable way out, and the second he tries to tell them that, that he’s essentially stuck, the comms go down.  He knows what that means for them, that telemetry is off and they’re likely going to start drifting aimlessly; he knows that the storm is likely on top of them, and if their current state is any indication, it’s a doozy; he knows that he’s _fucked_ , well and truly, unless he can get out of here.

 

He doesn’t.

 

He’s finally managed to untangle himself from one of the engines when Icarus starts shaking, and by the time he’s furiously fighting his way over to the wall—his flailing does nothing but infuriate, as he feels like’s essentially treading mud—the storm has made impact, and Johnny is thrown halfway across the engine room.

 

——

 

Betty holds onto Bruce even as she holds onto the wall, burying her face against his chest, breathing him in as a loud roaring surrounds them.  When she finally reached him in the lab, he was unconscious, suspended near the ceiling, a med box spinning through the air, and blood congealing against his head.  Now, he jerks awake as Icarus shakes apart, gasping for air as he clings to Betty.

 

“What’s going on?” he yells over the noise.

 

“I don’t know,” she says into his chest, “I think it’s the storm.”

 

Bruce wraps his arms around Betty, tugging her closer.  “We’re safe,” he whispers, closing his eyes, “We’re safe.”

 

——

 

As soon as the shaking stops, Nat unhooks herself and kicks off from the wall, soaring in the direction of the greenroom’s door.  Her outstretched hands hit it first, the pressure aggravating her wrists until she lets go and gropes down the door for the handle.  She presses her palm down, waits for it to recognize her, and starts swearing when it doesn’t.

 

“Wanda!” she shouts, yanking one of her legs around to smash it against the door.  It has less effect than she wants as it doesn’t move very quickly.  “ _Wanda_!”

 

“I’m okay!” Wanda yells back, “Peter?”  Natasha hears an indistinct murmur, and then Wanda’s calling back to her, “We’re both okay!  Why can’t you get in?”

 

“Fucking lock won’t register!  I think it has to do with the—“ Natasha’s words are swallowed in a shout as Icarus jerks and she’s pulled sharply away from the door, but she tightens her hold on the handle, her shout bubbling into something worse as her shoulder pops a second before her back hits the wall.

 

The artificial gravity in the lab jumps on at the same time as the light, and Natasha hits the ground with a thud.

 

——

 

“Powering up,” Tony says, quickly tapping through keys.  Despite the severity of the storm, Tony had a brief moment of gratitude because it illuminated where he was working.  Steve is purposefully not looking at the multitude of awful colors bombarding them, and is instead watching Tony work.  “Okay, power restored to the lab.  Cameras coming in a second, keep an eye on them, look for everyone’s status.”

 

Steve turns his gaze over to a screen that pops up, and he watches the cameras start to reboot as he listens to Tony typing furiously.  “Greenroom coming up, and you should be seeing both now.”

 

“Nat’s prone,” Steve says immediately, “Can you get comms up before the lights?”

 

“Sure,” Tony says, flicking his current stream of data away to work on a new thread.  “Shit, sorry,” he says a second before a screeching sound echoes through both of their ears.  Steve winces, but then Tony’s voice is filtering closer than before, “Communications test.  Do not respond.  Jarvis, take a lap.”

 

“Artificial gravity is still down in the greenroom,” Steve says, finding Peter in the pipes above and Wanda below a table.”

 

“I can only do one thing at a time,” Tony says.

 

“Sir, communications are onboard.”

 

“Natasha, come in,” Steve says immediately.

 

“Dislocated shoulder.  I’ll get up in a second.  I’m bleeding from the nose, but I don’t think it’s broken.  Impact related, probably.”

 

“Wanda, Peter, gravity should be restored in a moment,” Tony says, “Moving to the med bay next.”

 

Steve watches as cameras start coming up, slowly but surely, as Tony starts rebooting each section of the ship.  Bruce reports a minor head injury, and Betty says nothing, still held tight against him.  Bucky and Sam are both fine, although shaken.  “I can’t find Johnny,” Steve says to Tony, “The comms went down before he could report his location, but I can’t find him on the cameras.”

 

“Johnny?” Tony says into the comms.

 

When there’s no response, Peter echoes him, “Johnny?  Where are you?”

 

“Tony,” Steve says as he starts zooming in on different areas, “Where is he?”

 

“I don’t know, Cap,” Tony says, closing out his reboot and pulling up another, “Scanning for signs of life now.”

 

“Alive,” Johnny’s voice mumbles, “Help.”

 

“I’m coming,” Peter says, and Steve watches him detach from the pipes and carefully drop to the ground, “Where are you?”

 

“Engine room.”

 

“Peter, I’ll meet you there,” Bruce says.

 

“You will not,” Betty says, finally pulling away from him, “You’re hurt.”

 

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Bruce says, and Tony grins at his tablet.  Betty glares at him, but lets him go.  “Go to Nat,” he says, pushing away from the wall.

 

“Yes, please,” Natasha says softly.

 

“Another wave approaching,” Bucky says, “It’s minor, but brace for impact.”

 

Icarus groans.

 

Steve feels it heave through him, and then it’s over.  “Are we good in here?” he asks, glancing at Tony.

 

“Almost, just—yeah, we’re good.”

  
Steve unhooks from his seat even as Sam is entering, who drops in next to Tony.  “Jarvis,” Sam says, “Pull up telemetry.  _Shit_.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, going over to stand by Tony.

 

“Can I help you?” he mutters.

 

“Not at the moment,” Steve says quietly, and though it’s a bit annoying to have him there, Tony knows why he’s hovering, knows that he doesn’t want to look outside and see what they’re up against, would rather look at something far more foreign because it feels familiar, because it’s Tony’s language.

 

“Eye of the storm approaching,” Bucky says as he comes into the operations console, watching data process on his tablet before he drops into the seat on Tony’s other side and pulls up several screens.  He and Sam start working on controlling the trajectory of the ship, Bucky calling over orders.  Tony keeps working to assess and control the damage.  Steve stands by, watching them work, and though it’s the worst possible moment in their journey so far, he’s never felt prouder of them, especially when he watches Bucky toss a screen Tony’s way, and Tony flashes him a smile in thanks, delving into it.

 

“And we’re in it, folks,” Bucky reports finally as the storm settles around them.

 

“Alright,” Tony says, shutting down his programs, “You ready for this?”

 

“Right now?” Steve says, looking over at him in disbelief.

 

“Absolutely,” Bucky says, getting up, “We need to collect samples now, and I think—” he breaks off, looking to Tony, who nods, “—yeah, minor outside injury that needs to be fixed before the next wave hits.”

 

“Okay,” Steve sighs, “Sam, keep piloting.  Peter, status report?” he adds over the comms.

 

“I’m at the engine room, door is jammed, but I’m almost through.”

 

“Bruce?”

 

“Almost there.”

 

“Betty?”

 

“Just got to the lab.  Nat’s okay.  No broken nose, but definitely a dislocated shoulder.  Wanda’s with me.”

 

“Wanda, I need you in the flight deck.”

 

“What?” Betty and her say at the same time.

 

“I need backup in case something happens to Tony and Bucky,” Steve says.

 

“You’re going out there _now_?” Natasha asks.

 

“One of the engines has some severe damage done to it,” Johnny says, his voice quiet and strained.

 

“You said minor,” Steve says, rounding on Bucky.

 

“I was lying to you,” Bucky says, “It makes no difference.  We have to get out there.”

 

“We don’t use the engines,” Steve turns to Tony, “Can it wait?”

 

“We won’t use this one if we wait.  It’s bad.”

 

Steve’s jaw works, and then he says, “Fine.  Let’s go.”

 

——

 

_0900 hours_

“We should get back inside soon,” Bucky says even as he caps another sample and drops it into the bag attached to his suit.

 

He records a few notes on a separate channel until Tony says, his voice close though he’s far away, “Yeah, this is going to take a while longer.  Johnny, what are you seeing?”

 

“It’s all exterior, thankfully, but if you don’t get that panel tight soon, I wouldn’t be surprised if it busted open.”

 

There’s about ten seconds of dead silence before Bucky says, “Okay, I’m coming over to you.”

 

“You’re a pilot,” Tony and Johnny say at the same time.

 

“I took some engineering classes,” Bucky says, reaching out his right hand to grab onto the tether extended behind him in order to turn.

 

“Yeah, and I once crashed a flight simulator,” Johnny grumbles.

 

“Well, you’re—a child,” Bucky counters with, and Johnny’s laugh immediately dissolves into a groan.

 

“How’re you doing in there, kid?” Tony asks quietly.

 

“Great.  Broken ribs are— _Jesus_.”

 

“Johnny,” Bruce comes over the comms, “Shut up.  Try to take some small breaths so as not to agitate them right now.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me to take big breaths to counteract possible bacteria buildup?” Johnny mumbles.

 

“Look who paid attention in their bio class,” Peter says, and then there’s a loud, reverberating bang.  “Sorry!” Peter exclaims, “That was me.”

 

“Sure, just break the door down,” Johnny says.

 

“Dude, if I could, I fucking would, but this door is made of—I don’t even know.”

 

“Reinforced steel and high-tech locking mechanisms,” Tony reports, “Sorry.  I’m overly fond of my engines.  There are several barriers to bypass once the doors shut down.”

 

“Makes sense,” Johnny says, “Next time, I’ll be sure to be far away when the ship tries to blow up.”

 

“She did not try to blow up,” Tony mutters darkly.

 

“Oh, good, you’re in that percentage of stupid men who refer to their electronics as women?” Natasha quips, “Even though Icarus is literally a male deity?”

 

“Listen, just because you’re hopped up on pain killers,” Tony snaps.

 

“Can we please focus?” Steve interrupts, “I’m glad you’re all friends now and not trying to kill each other with—laser eye beams or whatever, but seriously.”

 

“Seriously?” Sam says, “That’s your—Jesus, I literally can’t.  _Steve_.”

 

“Ow,” Johnny moans as he starts laughing, “Laser eye beams, you’re so lame.”

 

“I can’t believe I thought you were cool once,” Bucky says as he finally reaches Icarus and grabs on, “Detaching now and coming over to you, Tony.”

 

“Johnny,” Tony says, and he sounds different—strange.

 

“Come on, man, don’t.”

 

“I’m gonna have to ask you to get out of there.”

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

Bucky decides, instead, in the face of overwhelming odds that they’re about to lose Johnny, that he’s going to use his thrusters to reach Tony instead of climbing carefully along the hull.  There’s no noise on the comms, though he can hear Steve’s voice in his head, delivering quick, careful orders.  He tries not to think of what Johnny’s face must look like as he hauls himself upright and hurries over to the door, desperately trying to help open it.  As he comes soaring slowly around the ship, he’s offered a plummeting view of the darkness around them, stars shining dimly in all directions, Mars glaring at them in the distance, and these unimaginably beautiful colors starting to pick up speed again.

 

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky says, diverting his attention back to Tony, who’s working as quickly as he can.

 

“Okay,” Tony says suddenly, stashing one of his tools away and reaching out with both hands, grasping onto two handholds on either side of the loose panel, “Steve, shut up.  Wanda, I’m sending you a hack to pilot my suit remotely.”

 

“ _What_?” Steve says regardless.

 

“I told you to shut up,” Tony says, and then he tips a little off the deep end, “Wanda, pay attention.  Magnetize my suit to the panel door.  It has to be precise.  You’ve got visual, go.”  His whole body tugs in against the ship, shifting minutely until he’s thudding against it, a pressure holding him there that makes his chest ache.  “Perfect.  Deploy arm barriers in twelve seconds.  Don’t argue with me about it, I know what I’m doing,” he adds when she starts to speak.

 

Wanda sighs, but starts typing in the code he’s sent over to her.  And then, Bucky watches the impossible happen as he settles next to Tony, hitting the side of the ship softly as he lands.  Tony shoulders move, and then his suit is expanding, just a minute movement, but enough that he can pull his arms in.

 

“What the hell?” Bucky gapes.

 

“It’s a modified suit,” is all Tony says before he starts typing, “Peter, I’m patching into your visual.  I need your eyes.”

 

“Just tell me where.  Oh,” he adds when Tony pulls a screen up in front of him.

 

“Say hi Jarvis.”

 

“Hello, Mister Parker,” Jarvis says, “Please do excuse the intrusion.”

 

“He reminds me of C3P0.”

 

“He takes offense to that.”

 

“Actually, sir, it’s you that does.”

 

“Alright, let’s not get snappy,” Tony says, “Peter, just—hang out, man.  I’ll be done in a second.  Bruce, can you—get in a suit?”

 

“EVA or EMU?”

 

“EVA.  Just in case,” Tony amends.

 

“Not Peter?”

 

“Sorry, dude, if Johnny goes, you go.  I need your eyes,” he repeats.

 

“This is absurd,” Steve says, but he doesn’t stop them, “Bucky, watch his six.”

 

Instead, Bucky pulls himself up along the handholds, looking out at the reawakening storm.  He swears softly, says, “Rogers,” and switches frequencies, waiting for Steve to do the same.

 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

 

“I’m predicting about a two minute window.”

 

“That’s not enough time,” Steve states the obvious.

 

“What do you want me to do?”

 

Steve takes a full four seconds to consider before he says, “Keep him safe.  Please.”

 

He knows that he’s not only talking about Tony, which is why he doesn’t respond before he switches back to the regular frequency in time to hear Tony say, “Panel reaching maximum pressure hold.  Deploying counter measures.  Johnny, are you ready?”

 

“Get me out of here.”

 

Icarus holds her breath as Tony types furiously, and then the engine room door jerks open, barely enough room for Johnny to scramble out before Tony’s slamming it shut again, Wanda’s undoing the arm barriers, and Tony’s throwing his arms out a moment before Icarus exhales, and the panel door rockets open.  Cold, dead air fills the engine room as Tony is thrown backward wildly, and Bucky shouts, throwing one of his clips down to tether himself before he kicks off of the ship and careens after Tony.

 

“Tony!” Wanda screams.

 

“He’s moving too quickly,” Bucky assesses, “I’m detaching.”

 

“Bucky!” Steve shouts.

 

“Brace for impact,” Sam says, “T-minus thirty seconds.”

 

“Bucky, don’t,” Tony whispers, closing his eyes to stop the overwhelming feeling of dizziness as he keeps spinning, “Wait.”  He inhales slowly, and then gets to work.  “Jarvis, recalibrate.”

 

“Removing spin,” Jarvis says, “Please hold.”

 

“Don’t get snarky with me.”

 

“Sir, you can open your eyes now.”

 

Tony obeys.  Icarus is farther away than he remembers, and Bucky is not attached to it.  “I told you to wait,” he says.

 

“Well, guess what, I’m an asshole like you,” Bucky says, his expression one that would normally make Tony laugh, but he’s too dazed to really focus.

 

“Jay, rocket fuel, man.”

 

“You were not authorized to attach rocket fuel to your suit, sir.”

 

“You know what I mean,” Tony mumbles, and then he sees something darker than space.

 

“Shit,” Bruce says, “Vital signs are bad.”

 

“Is he awake?” Steve asks.

 

“Probably not.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“I’m almost there.”

 

“Impact,” Sam says, and the storm reignites, shakes Icarus to her core.

 

Bucky doesn’t think about it, instead focuses on Tony, who has, without warning, abruptly begun flying toward him, faster than any EMU suit should be allowed to go.  When they’re all settled and alive, he’s going to demand a full breakdown of Tony’s suit, he decides.

 

“Contact in three—two—one—got him,” Bucky reports, grabbing hold as Tony slams into him, and then keeps doing.  Whatever is powering his suit throws them blindly back toward Icarus, but Bucky knows what’s waiting for them, and he tries to stop them, tries to slow them, tries to do anything that won’t throw them back into that storm.

 

“Behind you,” Wanda’s voice echoes, and then there are hands on Bucky, a tether latching onto him.

 

“ _Get inside_ ,” Steve’s voice is all hard edges.

 

Wanda doesn’t have time to try to help before Tony’s suit is plunging them into the storm, and then there’s nothing that can help.

 

——

 

During a respite that lasted all of fifteen seconds, Wanda yanked them back toward the ship, and Bucky tossed Tony through the open panel door, waited for Wanda to climb in, and followed suit, tethering to one of the walls as the storm raged on once again outside.

 

The next twenty minutes go on for an eternity.  Bucky feels like he’s still outside, still being pelted in every direction, their tether straining and groaning as it held them fast, and he was sure it was going to break at any moment and set them loose.  Inside the engine room is only marginally better.  There is nothing to hear, but his imagination has plenty to supply, and the way Icarus shudders under the onslaught doesn’t help.

 

And then, finally, it’s over.

 

Sam reports no impending waves, and so they exit the engine room, stepping back out into the deep dark of space.  “I’m not leaving you,” Wanda says before she anchors Tony to the hull and helps him fix the panel door.  It’s subpar, and they’ll need to go out again to actually fix it once both of their engineers aren’t trying to die.

 

When they finally get back inside, Bucky can’t get out of his suit fast enough, and he’s only got the helmet off before Steve is stepping in to help him get the rest off before he yanks him into a hug that hides the way Bucky wants to fall apart.

 

He embraces Wanda next, and she breaks a little, letting out a shattering exhale as Steve presses his thanks into her shoulder, closing his eyes as he holds her.  When he releases her, he helps Bucky get Tony out, and then Steve’s looping an arm around his shoulders and behind his knees and lifting him into the air.  He leaves them without another word, and Bucky sinks back against one of the walls, tipping his head back as he closes his eyes and just tries to breathe.  When Wanda hovers in front of him, he extends one arm and pulls her against him, breathing slow so she’ll be able to.

 

“Come here,” he hears Wanda murmur, and then another body is pressing against them.

 

“Bruce kicked me out,” Peter whispers, and Bucky laughs, looking over at him.  He peeks up at Bucky, head leaning on Wanda’s shoulder, and offers him a weak smile.

 

“Come on,” he says, nudging each of them, “I’m starving.”

 

“I want pizza,” Sam says as he walks past the airlock.

 

Everyone groans.

 

——

 

_August 31, 2072_

_0700 hours_

Steve has been unsuccessfully trying to read through this morning’s scarce reports, despite how interesting they are.  Only a handful came in last night, and though he’s read them all, he hasn’t absorbed anything.  He sighs, leans back in his chair, and rubs at his eyes, trying to release some of the tension from yesterday, but all he can hear is the sound Johnny had made when he finally fell out of the engine room.

 

Steve gives up, and instead goes back to reading the reports.

 

_Mission Report_

_Author: Jonathan Storm_

_space storms suck—full report at some point_

Steve slams his laptop shut.  He can’t do this.

 

He takes a moment to inhale, holding it at the top, and when he finally exhales, he’s on his way out of the operations console.  He takes the most direct route to the med bay so that he can avoid anyone else, which he knows isn’t appropriate, but he needs a little silence in his head.

 

When he arrives, he pauses outside the door, trying to shake his awful feeling that he’s going to walk in, and Bruce is going to be sat at his desk, head buried in his hands, the awful noise of a flat lining heart monitor drowning out everything else.

 

Steve shakes his head, and flattens a hand against the thermal reader, waiting for the door to open.  When it does, he steps inside and looks around.  Johnny is sitting up in his bed, a stethoscope pressed against his chest, Bruce listening carefully.  When the door shuts, Bruce leans back and says, “Doesn’t sound like there’s any fluid buildup, so that’s good.  I’d like to keep you in here for a week, and then you can return to your bunks, though it’s bedrest until I clear you.  Right, Steve?”

 

“Of course,” Steve says, “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Like shit,” Johnny says, carefully shifting until he’s lying on his back.

 

“I got your report this morning.”

 

“I was hopped up on the good drugs, sorry,” Johnny says, closing his eyes, “High as a fucking kite.  I don’t even remember sending it, but then I was checking email this morning, and I saw it.  I’ll draw up a full report soon.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says before he tries to turn to Bruce and ends up looking at Tony.  He’s lying in one of the cots, a few machines quietly sounding his status.

 

“He’s stable,” Bruce says, watching him for a moment before he gets up and goes over to put away Johnny’s file.  “He woke up last night in a panic, but I managed to calm him down, and he’s been sleeping since.”

 

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Steve asks, slowly making his way over to him.  When he reaches the edge of the cot, it takes all of his willpower not to reach out and touch him, and he really can’t understand why.  Two and a half years ago, he hated this man, and yet—Steve shakes his head.  He knew that training intensively with him for two years would shift things, but being in space in the last six months has seen the most difference in their relationship.

 

“Concussion, definitely,” Bruce says, pulling him from his thoughts, “I only got a little out of him last night, but he’s sore all over, nothing I’m too worried about, but enough that I want to do a full diagnostic when he’s more coherent.”

 

“Should he be sleeping with a concussion?” Steve asks, glancing at Bruce.

 

“No,” Bruce says, and though part of Steve wants to argue, he leaves it to his doctor to make the best decision.  “I have several reports to write up, but you’re more than welcome to stay.”

 

Steve nods.  “Thank you,” he says, though he makes no move to settle in.  He spends several long moments just _looking_ at Tony, unsure of what his next move is until Bruce’s fingers start tapping over his laptop, and he quickly steps away, thanking him again before he leaves.

 

Outside, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes.  He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

 

——

 

_0900 hours_

Steve’s given them the next few days off to recuperate, and that’s how half of the crew end up in Sam and Bucky’s room.  Bucky is down in the gym, running off a nightmare he woke up sweating from, and so when Wanda knocks, it’s Sam’s voice that calls her in.

 

He’s at his desk, typing up a report for yesterday when she comes in, and he smiles as she immediately goes over to his bed and curls up.  “Tired?” he asks.

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits, drawing one of his pillows into her arms and folding around it.

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, “Bucky kept waking up.  Do you need anything?”

 

Wanda just looks over at him, and Sam laughs before closing his laptop and grabbing his tablet before he heads over to join her.  He folds his legs under him, leaning against the front of the bunk.  Wanda shifts until the pillow is in his lap, and she’s lying against him, smiling when he rests his tablet against her head and keeps working.

 

She listens to him type away, closing her eyes to the soft rhythm of his breath slowly shifting her.  She starts to doze, drawing her focus to Sam only in an attempt to banish the absolute terror of her first spacewalk.

 

Wanda knows why Steve entrusted her to act as Tony and Bucky’s backup, that she’s had more practical training than most of them, but what none of them know is that she’s terrified of actually stepping out into the deep dark.  Banishing yesterday’s events, however, is easier said than done, and it’s not long before she’s pressing her face into the pillow, willing away the hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

 

Sam’s hand drifts away from his laptop and starts rubbing slow circles in her back, and Wanda doesn’t trust herself to express her gratitude, and so instead she reaches out one hand to curl around his knee, fingers kneading into his thigh for a few moments before she just lets it rest there.

 

Only a few minutes has passed like this before there’s a knock on the door, and Sam calls softly for them to enter.  Peter pokes his head in, looking unsure until Wanda waves him over, and then he hurries to join them, tucking up next to Sam, legs pressed into Wanda’s back and knee resting against Sam’s as he sets his laptop on his lap and opens it up.

 

Eventually, Wanda falls asleep.  Peter and Sam quietly compare notes on a few things from various experiments they’re conducting until the door opens to admit Natasha.  She flashes them both a tired smile, and then goes to tuck into the corner at the end of the bed with her book, legs stretched until her toes are warming up beneath Peter’s thigh.  When Bucky gets back, he laughs softly at them and disappears to shower.  After he returns, he changes into something soft and comfortable, and somehow fits himself around Wanda, temple resting against Peter’s knee and body curved around Natasha’s legs.  Peter has drifted off to reading one of his books, so he frees one hand to run through Bucky’s hair slowly, which Bucky fights to stay conscious through, and ultimately gives up.

 

Natasha looks over at Sam as Bucky’s shoulders slump in, soft snoring echoing around them, and smirks.  “These beds are designed to take up as little room as possible,” Sam says.  Natasha’s smirk just widens, and she looks back down at her book, turning her page.

 

They pass their morning like this, and it’s not until Steve’s voice comes over the comms that anyone realizes what time it is, “Guys?  Where are you?”

 

“Cuddling,” Wanda mumbles, and Sam’s laugh is loud enough that Bucky whines at him.

 

There’s a long pause before Steve asks, “Where?”

 

“What do you need, Cap?” Bucky asks around a yawn.

 

And then the door opens, and, to their utter shock, Steve is standing there in sweats with a tired smile and a book.

 

“Steve!” they all exclaim quietly.

 

Wanda reaches out an arm invitingly, and he comes over, dropping down next to the bed, his back resting against the edge of it.  Wanda loops an arm around him, shifting a little closer so that he’s got some of her pillow.

 

“What did you tell NASA?” Bucky asks once he’s settled.

 

“That they could fuck off,” Steve mutters.

 

“Ay!” a few of them cheer.

 

“Liar,” Natasha accuses, and Steve smiles at his book.

 

“I did not,” he agrees, “But I did tell them that there was severe damage done to both Icarus and her crew, and that they could expect no new reports from us until everything had been fixed.”

 

“That I believe,” Sam says, “What did they say?”

 

“I didn’t read it.”

 

Bucky weighs the possibility of that and finally settles on, “Sounds plausible.  What now?”

 

Steve shrugs.  “Whatever you guys want.”

 

“Popcorn and movie night,” Sam says immediately.

 

“Big Hero 6,” Peter says, and the room erupts in noise.

 

——

 

_1200 hours_

_Steve: Is he awake?_

Bruce stares at the message for a few long moments before he responds.

 

_Bruce: Yes.  Why?_

Steve doesn’t respond, but when he looks at his watch, Bruce thinks he knows why he’s asking.  “What are you doing?” he says as he turns to Tony.

 

Tony looks up from where he’s rummaging through Bruce’s meds, and looks over like he’s been caught with something much worse.  Bruce sighs, lifting a hand to rub at one of his temples, glaring at Tony.  “I wasn’t going to take anything,” he says.

 

“I don’t believe you,” Bruce counters.

 

“You probably shouldn’t.  My chest fucking hurts.  Can I please have something for it?”

 

“You’re fine.  What are you doing?”

 

“This feels like a redundant conversation,” Tony says, straightening away from the meds and folding his arms across his chest, wincing when he does.

 

Bruce waits for him to lower his arms again before he explains, “With Steve.”

 

“I dunno,” Tony says, shrugging, “I’m letting him set the pace.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“This thing.”

 

“What thing?”

 

“Whatever it is we’re doing.  Stop interrogating me,” Tony accuses.

 

“When you’re not potentially jeopardizing all our lives, I’ll add it to the things not to consider list.”

 

“That’s rude.”

 

Bruce shrugs.  “You need a healthy interrogation every once in a while.  You’re too abrasive with your decisions.  What are you doing with Steve?”

 

“I don’t _know_ , Bruce,” Tony whines, “I’m just letting this fall as it may.”

 

“What is _this_?”

 

“Jesus, you’re worse than Rhodey.”  Tony mucks up his hair, and then lets his hand slap down against his thigh.  Tony gestures between them.  “This.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Bruce says with sudden clarity, looking away from Tony.  He remembers _this_ well, remembers not realizing that Tony had weaseled his way into every facet of Bruce’s life until even Betty was wondering if they should try exploring with a third person.  And then—and then all of it had made sense, the coffee runs, the early morning insomnia calls, the light touches Tony’s fingers left as they sought warmth.  He had been courting him all along, and Bruce didn’t notice it until Tony was _there_ , mouth hot against his jaw, and Betty wasn’t even close to mad when she got home and found them, in the lab, Tony missing a shirt.  She’d lost an article of clothing a few minutes later, and now—now, his chest hurts a little.

 

“Stop making that face,” Tony says quietly.

 

Bruce finally looks over at him again, points a finger that he won’t admit shakes at him, and says, “Do _not_ fuck him up.”

 

And then he’s gone because he can’t be in there with Tony and know that he’s treating Steve with more care than he ever did with Bruce.

 

——

 

On his way over, Steve crosses paths with Bruce, who pointedly ignores him and strides past him quick enough that Steve thinks something has gone wrong in the med bay.  He walks a little faster than he intends to, but when he enters the med bay, Johnny is asleep and Tony is—sulking.

 

It’s evident by his face, and the fact that he’s curled around a tablet, a frown that looks permanent pulling down his mouth, his fingers tapping furiously against the screen.

 

“Hey,” Steve says softly, but Tony still jumps, tablet slipping off his lap as his hand darts to his chest and he looks over at Steve with wild eyes.  It’s a little disconcerting, seeing him like this, and so Steve tries to offer him a small, careful smile.

 

“Sneaky bastard,” Tony says, lowering his hand and unfolding off his bed to pick up his tablet, “What’s up?”

 

“Brought you lunch,” Steve says, holding up a small, covered bowl.

 

“Tell me it’s soup,” Tony says, reaching out a hand.  Steve passes it over, laughing when Tony opens it and groans.  “I don’t even care that this is basically just flavored water, I’m so hungry, and Bruce tried to get me to eat granola this morning, but it was literally like chewing metal.”

 

“Because of your concussion?” Steve asks as he pulls up a chair next to Tony’s bed.

 

Tony nods.  “Fucking thing is incapacitating me.  I’m sick of it.”

 

“It just happened,” Steve says.

 

Tony waves a hand at him.  “I’d much rather have broken ribs.  My tech time has been cut away almost entirely.”

 

This time, Steve can’t refrain.  “Shouldn’t it be altogether?”

 

“Bruce and I don’t always see eye to eye on everything.  He lets me have a marginal percentage of my way.”

 

“That seems—reasonable.”

 

“Because I’m intolerable?” Tony asks, looking over his soup bowl at Steve.

 

“Occasionally,” Steve admits, and Tony hides his smirk in a sip.  “How are you feeling?”

 

“I was really hoping we weren’t going to do this,” Tony says, flapping a hand in between them, “Not particularly interested in this conversation.”

 

“Tony—”

 

“Nope, imploringly saying my name isn’t going to help, either.  I think we should really just move past it and—you know, focus on what’s important.  I’ll have a full report to you by this afternoon of what happened.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Steve says, shaking his head, “Tony, you need to rest.  It can wait.”

 

“NASA is probably up your butt about getting it, it’s cool.”

 

“NASA can wait,” Steve says, “Tony, you were just—god, I don’t even want to think about it.  You need to take it easy.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t want to think about it, either, funnily enough,” Tony says, “So could we not?”

 

“We can’t just ignore it,” Steve says, leaning forward, “Tony—”

 

“Seriously, Cap,” Tony says, and Steve blinks.  He’s been trying to figure out why Tony occasionally calls him Cap, but he can read him easily now—he’s uncomfortable.

 

“You almost died,” Steve says.

 

Tony’s next inhale is sharp, and he almost drops the soup.

 

He looks up at Steve, his face a careful mask.  “Thanks for that pleasant reminder, asshole,” he says, no bite, before he tucks back into his soup.

 

“Tony—”

 

“Get the fuck away from me.”

 

Steve sighs, but obeys.

 

——

 

_1600 hours_

Peter feels like he should have seen this coming.

 

He gets a text alert as he’s finishing his rounds on Icarus.  Though they have no scheduled duties, he keeps wandering away from his room in a panic that the ship might be falling apart beneath them, and so he distracts himself checking for breaches.

 

He’s just coming around toward the med bay, intending on visiting Johnny, when the alert pops up.

 

_Johnny: im high as a fuckign kite who wants to party_

Peter thinks Johnny probably meant to send it only to him, but then he sees that the whole group received it.

 

_Tony: Pretty sure alcohol is one of those flammable things they refuse to send us into space with._

_Johnny: they?  the almighty they?  oh shit looks like the horse men have risen starks followng the ruless_

_Johnny: gusy im so fuckd up_

_Wanda: Where’s the party at?_

_Johnny: ayyyyy_

_Johnny: follow the tunez_

Peter pokes his head into the med bay, but it’s empty.  Bruce’s phone is on his desk, the blankets on Tony’s bed are untouched, and Johnny’s bed is a mess, like he rolled out of bed and staggered off, dragging one of the blankets halfway with him.

 

Peter sighs, shakes his head, and heads back out, making his way toward the observatory because Johnny’s usually predictable when he’s high.  He’s trying to decide if this is a horrible idea or not, if he should try to corral Johnny back into the med bay, or if he should just give up and react accordingly to almost dying, but then he hears the noise.

 

It’s unmistakably coming from—well, everywhere.  It’s filtering through the several firewalls Johnny’s always complaining about, slowly filling Icarus until, as Peter gets closer to the operations console, he starts to understand.

 

Johnny’s _not_ high, he’s in pain.  Peter watched this happen once before, when he’d messed up his shoulder so bad, he could barely lift his arm, but Sue had been so angry with him that she’d left him to fend for himself at his apartment, and this had happened.  He’d done everything in his power to drown it all out, the physical and the mental.

 

“Steve’s going to kill you,” Peter says as he comes in.

 

Johnny is draped across the table that’s usually reserved for meetings, a bottle of pain medication at his side, and the most obnoxious house music he has on his personal drive blaring through the comms.

 

“Better entities have tried,” Johnny says, waving listlessly toward the front window.  Peter glances at space, and then back at his friend.

 

“What do you need me to do?” he asks.

 

“Fucking right,” Johnny says, holding up a hand.

 

Peter helps him sit, frowning when Johnny groans loudly, hand coming down to rest lightly against his side.

 

“This is no way to get high,” Wanda’s voice drifts over suddenly, and Peter looks over at her, and really, he thought the whole jaw dropping thing was just something of comedic effect the old movies used to do, but holy shit, she’s holding a bag of something that looks suspiciously like weed.  “You look like a fish,” she says to Johnny before she dumps into Steve’s seat, _Steve’s_.  Peter needs to sit down.

 

He starts to, but then Johnny starts laughing, immediately groaning after, and he turns his attention back to him.  “You should probably go back to bed,” Peter says a breath before Wanda flips the volume up higher on the music, hacks through a firewall in the space of an exhale, and kills the lights in the operations console before Peter can even blink.

 

“I like her,” Johnny says, sliding off the table and gasping.  He takes a slow breath and then heads over, carefully getting into Tony’s usual seat.

 

“There’s plenty of room, Peter,” Wanda says, scooting over a little.

 

“What the fuck ever,” Peter says before joining her, smiling when she shifts until she’s sitting sideways, legs draped over his, shoulders pressed together while she rolls a joint.

 

She hands it off when she’s done, and then goes back to her hack, filtering the music back toward the operations console, and Peter thinks it’s because of that that they don’t get caught for so long.  When Steve does finally find them, though, Peter knows exactly what draws him their way.

 

“This is a boring ass report,” Johnny says an hour later, when his medication and marijuana has taken effect, “How about this?  _Icarus tried to blow up because of a level five storm that NASA didn’t tell us about, and both our engineers almost died, so we’re having a three person rave right now, TTFN_.”

 

“Perfect,” Wanda hums sleepily.

 

“Don’t send that,” Peter mumbles, “We’ll be in so much shit.”

 

“It’s not like they have to release it or anything,” Johnny says, leaning forward to smack the send button on his laptop, “Ha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys, I'm so fucking exhausted right now. I went to see Florence and the Machine last night, and she's amazing and beautiful, and she's such a goddess, and I cried a little, _wow_. I have so many spideypool ideas right now, it's really the absolute worst, I hate them, help. (Kidding.) So I got four and a half hours of sleep, and I'm at work with my glasses on and no mascara, and I'm just literally falling asleep at my desk, BUT. This is a very exciting chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed it because Erin and I were _freaking out_ when I was first writing it. Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been nine months since Icarus left Earth, and NASA is a little concerned about their behavior.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: europaexpedition]_

_[password: thefuture]_

_Message Subject: fuckkkk_

Reed frowns as the message starts downloading, and then, as he starts reading, he stops breathing.  Sue covers her gasp with a hand as she steps back, gaze darting up and away.  She wants to swear at the sky, wants to scream loud enough that it carries back to him, wants him to know the kind of hole he’s digging.

 

“Delete it,” she whispers, and _god_ , why is this happening again?

 

“Sue,” Reed says, turning to her, and it’s a moment before he continues because he can see it, can remember her face the last time Johnny had done something like this, “You know I can’t do that.”

 

“Look at the IP address.  You know who sent that,” she says, shaking her head, “He’s doing this on purpose.  He knows that we have to release it.”

 

“Which is why we have to bring this to Jane so we can work out damage control,” Reed says, opening up an email.

 

“Reed,” Sue snaps, coming over to him and pulling him away from his desk by the chair, “Delete it.”

 

“I can’t,” he says, his jaw tightening, “You know I can’t.”

 

“Or won’t,” she says, “You’re too wrapped up in doing the right thing, or what you think is the right thing, and yet you’re too blind to see that letting this—letting these words, phrased like that, get out to the public is exactly the wrong thing.”  She doesn’t know how to do this, doesn’t know how to let them pin her brother like a villain, doesn’t know how to defend him after this.

 

“With the right damage control—”

 

“With the right damage control, the rest of it comes out,” Sue says, jerking away from him.  She folds her arms across her chest, fingers digging into her biceps as she walks away, trying to keep calm.  “The right damage control,” she continues, “is painting this as insubordination.  There’s no way he had Steve’s permission before sending that, and then people start digging, and the same questions start popping up again, but this time, they’re directed at us instead of him.  Why would NASA let someone who once flew an unmarked, unsanctioned, untested spacecraft out of Earth’s orbit for a _joy ride_ onto a six-year deep space mission?  Doesn’t that seem a little reckless?”

 

“Sue—”

 

“That is what they’ll ask you, Reed.  And then, it turns into this.”  She brandishes a hand around the room, letting her fury leak out a little.  “Eight minutes after he received his selection email, Jonathan Storm crashed a flight simulator, and Captain Steven Rogers _convinced_ the director of NASA that he was still qualified for the mission.  Are we sure we can entrust the safety of the others onboard with such wild abandon as is apparent in those two?”

 

“Steve—”

 

“And is this the same Steve Rogers who provided no further detail than to remark that several unplanned spacewalks occurred?  Because that sounds as though his team does not hold his command in very high regard.”

 

“That’s enough,” Reed says, standing, “You can’t—”

 

“Let me flip this around for you, Reed,” Sue says, throwing out her arms.  “Doctor Richards, is it true that you had foreknowledge of at least five years of a severe space storm that would befall the Icarus crew and neglected to tell them, resulting in a near-death experience while in deep space?”

 

Reed doesn’t respond, and Sue just nods before stalking from the room.

 

Jane calls him three minutes later and says, “Okay.  Here’s how we fix this.”

 

——

 

_September 2, 2072_

_0630 hours_

“Sharon, let’s go!” Peggy calls as she tips fried eggs onto a plate, “Breakfast is ready!”

 

She sets out two plates at the table, and then goes back to collect her mug of coffee and Sharon’s orange juice, who is still nowhere to be found when she sits down.

 

“Sharon!”

 

She steps out of the bathroom finally, her phone in hand, looking stricken, and Peggy fears the worst, yanking her phone out of her pocket as Sharon slowly makes her way over.  She has no emails from Reed, and so she looks back to Sharon.  “What?”

 

“A level five storm hit Icarus and almost killed their engineers.”

 

“What?” Peggy repeats, her voice flat.

 

“NASA released a statement with one of the reports.  It was weird.  It didn’t sound like Steve.”

 

“Let me see,” Peggy says, holding out her hand.  Sharon gives her the phone as she sits, and Peggy starts reading.  “A press conference?” she says, frowning.

 

“Sort of,” Sharon says when her aunt puts down the phone, “They’re going to air a video from the whole of the Icarus crew where they’ll be answering questions NASA has sent about the storm and the mission.”

 

“Jesus,” Peggy says, shaking her head, “This was sent without Steve’s okay.  What time is it on?”

 

“Right after school.  Do I have to go home?”

 

“No, I’ll have a car pick you up and bring you to SHIELD.  Wait—when did this happen?”

 

Sharon shrugs.  “They have 24 hours, so yesterday at the latest.”

 

“Shit,” Peggy says, and Sharon looks over at her in surprise, “They’re not giving them any time to prepare.  They want them on the spot.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Any longer, and questions we don’t want to answer start popping up.”

 

——

 

_1200 hours_

Clint checks his watch, frowning.  Riley’s not usually late for lunch, but he’d sent him a frantic text this morning about how he was getting ready to piss all over NASA’s fancy new flight models if they didn’t stop screening his calls.  He checks his phone next even though he knows there’s no media dumps coming in today, but he can’t get rid of this feeling that’s knotting his stomach.

 

“Sorry, man,” Riley says when he does finally arrive, crashing into the seat opposite him, “I swear, I’ve called them fifty times.  At least.”  Clint blinks at him.

 

“Did you get the standard response the first time?” Clint asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

 

“Please hold all further questions until this afternoon’s press conference.  Like, why even bother calling it a press conference when all they’re going to do is give form answers to a bunch of staged questions,” Riley says, flinging open his menu and shaking his head at it.

 

“You really think they’ll be form answers, with that crew?” Clint asks, his curiosity almost getting the better of him.

 

“That’s true,” Riley mumbles, paging over to the burgers, “Between Tony and Nat, I’m sure someone will say something stupid.”

 

“Let’s not forget Johnny.”

 

“I’ve been trying to.  Dude, seriously, what?” he finally says, looking up at Clint, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“You have a—bird.”

 

“Shit,” Riley sighs, his eyes closing as his chin sags forward.

 

“You didn’t know?” Clint asks, fighting a smile.

 

“No, okay, I forgot he was there.  Redwing, be chill.”  Redwing cocks his head at Riley, and Clint laughs quietly, ducking behind his menu.

 

Their waiter is less than pleased about Redwing, but considering they’re outside, he doesn’t make too much of a fuss about it.  Or, he does, and then Clint flashes him a nasty smile and lets him know how he’ll be spending his afternoon, so he backs off.

 

Riley orders something for Redwing, which just makes Clint outright cackle, and then they’re digging into their burgers, chatting about what could possibly happen in this press conference.  He’d called Reed directly to ask about it, told him he wouldn’t listen to the bullshit form response, and though he hadn’t gotten much, Reed had told him that they would be watching it “live” with several dozen reporters in the room.

 

“We don’t even get a pre-screening?” he’d asked, half joking.  Reed hadn’t laughed.

 

“I heard they’re flying everyone out,” Riley says, handing over a fry to Redwing, who has been eyeing them and edging closer.

 

“Not many to do so, but yeah.  The Parkers are due to arrive an hour before.  May called me this morning, in a straight out panic.  Everyone seems to think I have the inside scoop.”

 

“I mean,” Riley says, taking a fry for himself, “You kind of do.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Clint sighs.

 

“Did they get Pietro?” Riley asks.

 

“He knew before all of us.”

 

“Fuck you, how?”

 

“The flight alone would have taken twelve hours,” Clint says, “They made the decision a few hours after they received the video, called him to let him know there was something major enough to warrant flying out, and he wouldn’t balk so they gave him bare details.  He landed this morning, said he’s not going back until everything’s squared away.  He’s fucking terrifying when he gets like this.”

 

“It’ll be good to have him back, even if only for a little bit.  Did he indicate if he’d be staying, or is he going back to his family again?”

 

Clint shrugs, looks over as Redwing prepares to nip as Riley’s fingers, and laughs when Riley makes a noise at him and hands over a fry.

 

“Anyone else coming out?” Riley asks.

 

“What do I look like, the center of a gossip mag?  I only know those because May and Pietro rang.  Come on, our waiter’s giving you the stink eye.”

 

They finish up, pay, and then they’re heading out, finalizing their plan of attack before they separate, Clint taking his bike and Riley his SUV.  Clint’s halfway to headquarters when his phone starts ringing, and he patches it through to his helmet.

 

“Barton speaking.”

 

“Brother, wanna thank your mother for an ass like that!”

 

“Hey, Wilson,” Clint sighs, “What’s up?”

 

 “Get this.  NASA fuckin’ told the har har and Stacy’s Mom and me that we couldn’t come to your shindig, so we crashed it, and now they mad as balls,” Wade says sadly.

 

“And you’re calling me instead of May because?”

 

“Sugar, Auntie May’s way too worked up to be dealin’ with this shit.  Come bail us out.”

 

“Out of where, Wade?  If you say jail, I’m going to say—”

 

“Nothin’ pretty, I’m sure.  Nah, we’re on the front lawn, they won’t let us in, mofos.”

 

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Clint says before he hangs up and dials Reed, who picks up speaking, though Clint cuts him off, “I don’t care what you have to say, you’re letting them in.”

 

“They were explicitly not invited.  Riley’s lucky he’s being allowed in.  I won’t accept every mere acquaintance that those assholes have streaming in.”

 

“They’re his best friends, Reed!” Clint exclaims, “Peter gave them clearance for video streaming, so you bet your ass you’re letting them in, or I’ll break them in myself.  I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation with you.  Put Sue on.”

 

“Clint—”

 

“I’m not talking to you about this bullshit anymore, Reed.  Put Sue on.”

 

“I don’t know where she is.”

 

“Thank god, she actually has some sense,” and he hangs up.

 

When he gets to headquarters, Harry, Gwen, and Wade aren’t loitering around outside, so he assumes they either snuck in or were finally let in, and so he parks in the visitor lot, waiting for Riley to arrive before they head inside.

 

They’re barely through the front door when Mark fucking Watney walks up to them and says, “Gentlemen.”

 

“Sir,” they both respond, nodding.

 

“I just wanted to let you know, if there’s anything I can do to help— _anything_.  You let me know, okay?”

 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” Riley says, nodding again.

 

“Actually,” Clint says, “There is.”

 

——

 

_1600 hours_

“Traitor,” Jane spits at him, and Clint flashes her his rudest smile, “I can’t believe you got _him_ involved.”

 

“Oh, you mean the guy you left on Mars?  Funny how someone like that might want to help during a situation where NASA has, yet again, completely failed its astronauts.”

 

“Dig a hole, Barton, and fall in it.”

 

“Oh, spicy.  Sure you should be talking like that, director?”  Jane’s glare is venomous.  “Plus, he’s just here as moral support.  It’s not like I’ve asked him to speak or anything.  Just sitting in.”

 

“As a reminder,” Jane clarifies.

 

“I mean, _obviously_.”  Clint’s smile gets a little more aggressive, and Jane finally backs off, going to join Reed and Sue at the small podium set up in front of a crowd of reporters, family, and friends.

 

“Thank you for joining us,” Jane says, her smile perfect, “We’re just downloading the file now, and then we’ll be airing the live feed.  As a reminder, this is a delayed response, and thus the crew will not be able to see or hear us.  They are merely answering questions that were sent to them this morning.  Please refrain from all conversation until the conference has ended.  Thank you.”

 

Clint looks over to the side of the room, offering Watney a small, grateful smile that he returns, nodding once.  He looks around the room after, taking everyone in.  May, Ben, Wade, Harry, and Gwen were the first to arrive.  Clint and Riley showed up not long after, asking for Pietro, who came in like a whirlwind thirty minutes before they were to be seated.  Peggy came in with Sharon, who immediately ran over to Riley, hugging him tightly.  Rhodey arrived a few minutes beforehand, refused to speak with Reed, and sought out Betty’s sister and parents, who were instantly relieved to see him.

 

And then, it begins.

 

The Icarus logo comes up first, and then, for the first time, they’re seeing the inside of the ship.  The crew is gathered in what looks like a small bedroom, the video far away enough that it captures all of them.  Peter is sitting at one end of the bed, Wanda on the other, Johnny stretched out between them.  Tony’s on the bunk above, in between Bruce and Betty, his head resting against Bruce’s shoulder and his hand laced with Betty’s on her knee.  Sam, Natasha, and Bucky are on the floor, leaning against the bed, and Steve is standing to the side, arms crossed.

 

“Good to go,” Tony says, lifting his head and opening the tablet on his lap, “Cap?”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, accepting it, “Alright, first question.  Please provide a full breakdown of the incident.”

 

“And this seriously couldn’t have just been in words?” Johnny mumbles.

 

Half of them glare at him.  Peter, who doesn’t, is the one to say, “Dude, this is your fault, shut up.”

 

“Duly noted,” Johnny says, shifting until he can look at the camera, though he frowns as he does, a hand coming up to lay against his ribs.

 

“At 0800,” Steve begins, “the artificial gravity went out in several areas of the ship, shortly followed by all power.  We were able to reboot within a few minutes, and our primary objective was to get Icarus back on trajectory before we considered anything else.  In the first wave of the storm, Bruce sustained a slight head injury caused by a loose medical kit; Johnny was trapped in the engine room and sustained mild injuries to his ribs; Natasha sustained a severe dislocation of her shoulder.  We then proceeded with a pre-approved spacewalk into the eye of the storm to collect data and repair a damaged panel on the outer edge of the engine room.  Repairs were not completed before the second wave of the storm, and Tony was thrown from Icarus’s hull.  Bucky went out after him, as did Wanda.  They were lucky enough to return to the ship, waiting out the storm in the engine room.  After, repairs were done quickly.  Tony sustained a concussion and minor bruising on the chest.  Further repairs will need to be made at a later date.”

 

Steve glances down at the tablet and passes it back to Tony.  “How extensive was the damage?” Tony reads, “I don’t fucking know, I was unconscious.”  He tries to hand it down to Johnny, but Steve’s glare stops him, and he sighs.  “Extensive enough.  The panel burst open due to pressure endured before and during the storm.  No, this was not an issue that we would have noticed beforehand, and yes, I will fix it later.  What is the medical plan for all injuries?” he reads before dropping the tablet in Bruce’s lap.

 

Bruce is slow to answer, but finally, he looks up from the tablet and says, “The obvious?” like he’s confused.

 

Peter’s head hits the wall as he starts laughing.  “Bruce,” Steve says.

 

“No, this is ridiculous,” Bruce says, picking up the tablet, “I am a doctor, of several fields, but most importantly, a medical doctor.  I know what to prescribe my patients and what avenues to take with their recovery.  If I have to explain myself, then you should have done a better job with your selection.”

 

He leans forward, the tablet in his hand, and Steve almost hides his smile, but decides at the last moment that all of this isn’t worth it anymore.  “Wanda, next one’s yours.”

 

She takes the tablet and reads, “Please provide an explanation for the loss of life.”  She blinks at the screen for a moment before Tony starts giggling, and then it clicks.  “That’s so demented,” she says, “We lost one plant because I was trying to find my way to the ground in zero g with no power.  Oh well.”  She holds out the tablet and says, “That’s it.”

 

“They’re not wondering how we are?” Betty asks, “They don’t want to know if we’re okay?”

 

Steve takes the tablet, closing it down, and not meeting her gaze.  “Guess not,” he says finally, looking up.  No one speaks, waiting for him to do so.  “So, here’s how this goes.”  Steve turns toward the camera, and Tony leans forward to take the tablet from him as he holds it up, touching his shoulder briefly before he sits back.  “You knew about this, and you didn’t warn us until we worked it out for ourselves.  Icarus and her crew were damaged during the storm, and I will not let that go lightly.  I understand that Johnny has acted inappropriately, and will be reprimanded accordingly.  I understand that you also believe my crew does not give much regard for my command.  I respectfully disagree.  They have completed all tasks assigned and in a timely fashion, they have obeyed all orders, and they will continue to follow my lead, if only because I have given them the due respect that they also deserve.  We will be enduring deep space travel for six years in total, and we ask that you impart any other knowledge you may have that we should know and also that you do not question our unity as a team.  We will arrive on Europa safely, in mind and body, and we will take a step toward the future.”

 

He looks back at Tony, who’s smiling at him.  “Signing off,” Tony says, glancing to the camera before the video stills, leaving an image of the ten of them frozen on the big screen.

 

There’s a long, awful moment of silence that Reed, ultimately, has to break.  He stands and moves slowly toward the podium, straightening his tie before he says, “Questions?”

 

Eventually, Clint leaves, and the others are not far behind.

 

——

 

_1500 hours_

Tony’s doing that standing outside his door thing again.  He feels like he’s in unchartered waters, and really, he feels like he should be outside Bruce’s door, but as soon as his mind tries to lead him there, he knows how it ends.  Bruce will make him feel better, will say all the right words, but it’s not that he wants right now.  He wants— _needs_ —to be close to someone, physically, and Bruce put up those walls a long time ago.  He doesn’t blame him, but he can’t do that right now.

 

And so, here he is, standing outside Steve’s door, and trying to knock.  He hears Jarvis shifting minutely, and he knows a second before it happens that Steve’s requested a private channel.  “You’re making me anxious standing out there,” he says softly, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tony whispers, “I can’t—my head is so loud.”

 

“Does it hurt from the concussion?”

 

Tony drops his chin to his chest, tries to will away the blooming ache there, hiding behind his ribs.  “No,” he says, and can’t find it in himself to say anymore.

 

“Come inside,” Steve says, but he doesn’t move.

 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.  He doesn’t want to feel this way about Steve, about his _captain_ , but he doesn’t know how to stop it.  He’s never been good at this, at being— _human_.

 

The door opens without preamble, and really, Tony knows he should have heard it happening—he designed these doors, and he knows every sound they make—but then there Steve is, standing there with his arms by his sides, looking every bit as defeated as Tony feels.

 

Steve inhales—long, slow, purposeful.  He reaches out a hand, fingers circling Tony’s wrist, and he tugs him inside, tells him to be quiet when he tries to protest.  He gives him a nudge toward his bed, and Tony dumps onto it gratefully, intending to just sit, but the universe has other plans, and some kind of unseen force drags him down onto the bed.  He curls up, tucking his knees in close, and lets his eye slip shut, exhaling—fast, unsure, and a little scared.

 

“What kind of company are you looking for?” Steve asks, and it occurs to Tony—after a brief moment of wildly inappropriate thoughts—that Steve is asking him what version of himself Tony needs, and it makes his bones cold.

 

“Just you,” Tony says, opening his eyes and searching the room for him only to find him knelt next to the bed, blue eyes level with blue eyes.  It’s daunting, and a little too real, but Tony inhales, holds it inside himself, and doesn’t let it go when he exhales.  He came looking for this.  “Do you ever feel alone?” he asks.

 

Steve nods, drawing his arms up to pillow his head as he leans his cheek against one arm.  “All the time,” he says, his voice soft, “Here with the most incredible minds on the journey of a lifetime, and I spend half my time calculating how many miles away we are from home.”

 

“About thirty-four million,” Tony supplies.

 

Steve’s smile is sad and tired.  “That press conference didn’t go over so well.”

 

“I’m so proud of you for saying what you did.”

 

“I’m not,” Steve admits, “NASA won’t be.  I’m letting down my country at every turn.  These are not the words of a captain, they’re—god, what is Sharon going to think now?  She’s going to be so wary of NASA, and that’s not what I wanted for her.”

 

“But it’s the right path for her,” Tony says, and though he wants to unfold and sit up, wants to pull Steve up next to him so they’re really on a level playing field, he stays, lets this vulnerable space between them grow a little warmer, “You’ve shown her that being an astronaut is not just going into space.  It involves so much more, and though a lot of that more sucks, it’s better to know than to be thrown blindly to the wolves.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“For what?  Not being an ass for three seconds?” Tony quips.

 

“You’re not an ass,” Steve says, and he sounds so sure of himself that Tony doesn’t respond, “You’ve just got sharp edges.”

 

Tony waits until the air feels heavy between them before he says, “What the hell are we doing?”

 

Steve swallows, and Tony watches his throat move.  “That’s a loaded question.”

 

“Changing topics, then.  I came in here for a reason.”

 

“I know.  I’m—I’m not at full capacity right now,” Steve says.

 

“I know,” Tony says, “I can tell.  Can I just—stay in here for a while?  Is that okay?”

 

Steve nods into his arm, takes a slow breath, and then gets up, stretching his legs before he climbs in behind him, pressing back against the wall and not touching him.  Tony shifts carefully, turning over until he’s facing Steve.  “Can I do anything?” he asks because _shit_ , Steve looks miserable.

 

Steve shakes his head, offering him that sad, tired smile again.  “I’m just— _shit_.”  He closes his eyes, and his next slow breath shakes for a second.  “I’m just exhausted,” he says, opening his eyes, “I don’t want to let you guys down, but this is all just—”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says for him, “I know.  You feel like you’re imploding.”

 

“A little, yeah,” Steve says, his exhale coming out hard.

 

Tony untucks one of his hands and lays it between them.  Steve’s gaze doesn’t move down to it, but Tony sees his shoulder move.  Tony digs deep for a little energy, and his smile is warmer when he whispers, “One of the few decent things my father ever said to me was, _whatever it is, it’ll be gone in the morning, so stop worrying and sleep on it_.  Sound advice.”

 

“Have you ever followed it?” Steve asks, and then he takes Tony’s hand, looping his fingers through his so that their knuckles brush together.

 

“Not yet,” Tony says, and closes his eyes.

 

——

 

_September 3, 2072_

_0500 hours_

He’s been trained to wake early since he was a teenager, a whistle sounding at the doorway to his room and rousing him from deep slumber.  He was never really good at waking up, but he loved being awake before the sun, and here, he hates it.  There is no sun, not in the way he yearns for.

 

When he wakes now, he’s warmer than he’s been in the last six months, and Steve is disoriented for a moment, wondering how the sun crept in through layers of darkness and other stars to fill his breaths like he’s back home.  And there’s Tony, this space laid bare between them, his face and shoulders relaxed in sleep, this heat trapped between them, so brilliant it’s like waking to the sun.

 

It’s like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's only been a hot second since the last chapter, but you guys are just so amazing that I wanted to throw another one at you. Plus, I have a feeling a lot of you are going to make noise about this one.
> 
> ALSO. I have story-related things. I know I've said it at least sixteen times, but are you guys following the [space au](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/tagged/space-au) tag on my Tumblr? Sometimes, I tell secrets. Currently, I have this really fun secret that I'm trying very hard to keep to myself because it's _so exciting_. A few of you have commented on the realism of the story recently, and so this is one of those warning label things where I tell you that Erin and I scienced the shit out of this thing to make it realistic, so I really, really hope that you end up liking it. It happens a few chapters into the second year, which I officially started yesterday!
> 
> On another note, I realized that it's been a long time since I was writing for the Marvel fandom (jeez, over a year since the college au), and I've been mentioning this mysterious entity named Erin a lot, but you guys are all fairly new to my insanity, I think. So, say hi, Erin! She is essentially the motivation and muse behind every Marvel fic I've written in the last three or four years, and she's that lucky person that basically co-writes because she helps me flesh out ideas and make them real (I'm telling you, this idea we put together last night is _epic_ ) and she's just generally awesome, so I like to give her kudos because she does so very much for these fics, but especially this one because _space_.
> 
> Okay, one last thing! As I'm embarking on year two, I pose this question to you once again--is there anything you are just dying to see in an Avengers space au? Like I said before, I've been planning these years ahead of time, but as there doesn't seem to be a ton of Marvel space aus out there, I want to try to get anything in (within reason, don't you dare say aliens) that you want to see. So, let me know, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their tenth month of deep space travel, the crew of Icarus fights and snuggles.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: jonathanstorm]_

_[password: matchstick]_

_Message Subject: How are you?_

Johnny watches the video load nervously.  It’s from his sister, and he really doesn’t think he can handle listening to her scream at him for twenty minutes straight.  When it finally finishes downloading, he sighs and opens up the video from Sue, pressing play.

 

Instead of a furious expression, she’s smiling.  “Hey,” she says, waving, just a quick jerk of her hand.  She takes a deep breath, Johnny holds his as he waits for it, and then Sue says, “Goddamn it, Johnny.  Are you okay?”

 

He blinks.  His exhale comes out hard.

 

“I tried to convince Reed to just erase the message, to pretend it had never happened.  I didn’t want them to villainize you again, to try to drag you through the mud again.  I didn’t want to listen to it again.  I know why you sent that message, and _god_ , if I had known what was coming your way.”  She pauses, shaking her head, and that’s when Johnny notices how shaky her smile is because it disappears, and she lifts a hand to swipe at her dry cheeks.  “I couldn’t think about it,” she says without looking at him, “I kept dreaming about it all unfolding.  I could see it—NASA twisting your words to display not their inadequacies, but your failures, and then, if something went wrong, and Jesus, it did, you were hurt, and they started backtracking so fast, and I just—Reed and I aren’t speaking.”

 

“No, Sue,” Johnny says around a frown, “That’s not what I wanted.”

 

“I know it’s not what you meant to happen, but I just—he never told me, never even mentioned that you might ever be in danger, which, of course you would, you’re in space, but this was a controlled danger, something we could have avoided, and he just—sent you out there.  Without telling _me_ , his _wife_ , your—your sister, and— _damn it_.”

 

Sue angrily scrubs way the tears she can’t stop now, and Johnny tucks his knees up, burying his nose between them as he watches her.  She finally takes a deep breath, and finishes, “I hope you’re okay up there, Johnny.  I wish I could talk to you live.  I wish I could just—I wish I could hear your voice, see your face.  I miss you.  I love you.  Please be safe.”

 

——

 

_October 7, 2072_

_0900 hours_

Things start to shift between them.  Steve doesn’t quite notice it, at first, until Tony is caught up with Johnny one morning, discussing internal repairs for the panel in the engine room, and then he’s gone all day, implementing them.  Steve goes without tea that morning because his reports are extensive, and it’s nearly ten before he’s able to finally pull away and check on the crew.  He doesn’t see Tony until dinner, and even then, it’s a fleeting thing, watching him dart around the kitchen before he’s gone again, working with Johnny late into the night.

 

When he finally retires that night, it occurs to him that every time he’d considered checking up on them, he’d refrained because Johnny was there.  At that point, it’s only the space between one breath and the next before he realizes that he’s fallen very far from hate and into something potentially dangerous.

 

Tony solves his own riddle the morning he wakes up holding Steve’s hand, and, after he makes a quick getaway, he resolves that he’s going to avoid him without raising suspicion.  He continues to bring him tea in the morning, chats with him at lunch, and smiles anytime Steve catches him in the halls, but Bruce told him to be kind—and is still a bit pissed off with him—and so Tony does his best to not fall in love with his captain.

  
He fails.

 

And so, he does the most reasonable thing he’s capable of.

 

He knows Johnny is running late for his breach checks this morning because Steve was grumbling about it, and so, when he knocks on his door, Johnny makes a high-pitched noise, and the door jerks open, an apology falling into the air between them.

 

“Not Steve,” Tony says.

 

“Not Steve,” Johnny agrees, “But I’m sure he’s on his way to give me shit about sleeping in, so shoo.”

 

“Did you just shoo me?” Tony asks, following Johnny into his room, “That’s pretentious.”

 

“I mean,” Johnny says, brandishing a hand at him, “Hello, kettle.”

 

“Fair point,” Tony says, grinning when Johnny starts rifling through his drawers.  He leans against the bunks, one hip swung out, eyebrows shooting up when Johnny suddenly squats, opening the bottom drawer.

 

When he finally stands and turns, he stops, blinking at Tony.  “Can I—help you?” he asks, and Tony’s grin gets a little feral when Johnny’s tongue darts out to pull his lip in, teeth scraping over.

 

“I mean,” Tony says, letting his gaze travel slowly from his mess of bedhead to his bare feet, “You did offer once.”  Johnny is paralyzed, he’s sure of it because this is  _not_  happening, holy shit, but then Tony shrugs one shoulder and says, “Unless you’re running behind,” before he straightens away from the bunks.

 

“Fuck that,” Johnny says, dropping his change of clothes to the floor and yanking off his shirt in one swift motion.

 

“Good,” Tony says, and then he’s crossing the room in quick strides.  Johnny meets him halfway, mouth hot and insistent as his hands find the hem of Tony’s shirt and start to pull up.  It’s impressive, really, the time it takes for them to come together and then to crash naked into the bottom bunk.

 

“Shit, okay,” Tony says as Johnny presses him into the small mattress, rolling his hips down into Tony’s.  The air is thick between them, and Johnny’s all hard edges, his mouth quick and his hands searing heat across Tony’s body as they roam.  It’s a little more than he bargained for, Tony thinks, but he’ll be damned if he passes up this chance.

 

The door opens.

 

“Peter’s gonna kill me,” Johnny mutters.

 

Tony looks over as Johnny bites his shoulder, and his next inhale is sharp partly due to that— _god_ , he loves being bitten—but also because it isn’t Peter standing in the doorway.

 

“I hope the sex is worth it if we die due to a missed breach,” Steve says.

 

Tony closes his eyes.  This is his worst fucking idea to date.

 

Johnny groans into his neck.

 

The door closes.

 

Tony sighs.  “Get up.”

 

“Whatever,” Johnny says, reaching up to kiss his jaw.

 

“No, he’s right,” Steve says, and they both look over in shock, “Get up.”

 

Johnny quickly scrambles to do as he’s told, darting over to his clothes to yank them on.  Tony is slower to move, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and looking over at Steve, frowning when he won’t meet his gaze.

 

“Steve—” he tries.

 

“Did I ask you to speak?” Steve says, his voice cool and unhurried as he finally glances at Tony, “Get dressed, and—get out.  Just go do whatever it is you normally do.”

 

“Steve—”

 

“ _Go_ , Tony.”

 

Johnny slips out, and his footsteps crash down the hall as he sprints away.  Tony waits for Steve to leave, and when it’s obvious he isn’t going to, he starts dressing, only looking back to him when he’s on his way out.  “I’m sorry,” he says to Steve’s back.

 

“Don’t let it happen again,” Steve says, not turning, and he hates that he means he doesn’t want to catch Tony with someone that isn’t him again.

 

——

 

_1000 hours_

_Peter: I think I’m getting sick._

_Sam: That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had._

_Peter: I know.  Send help.  Location of death: greenroom._

_Wanda: Gross, you are not allowed in here with germs._

“I’m not actually sick yet,” Peter says as he lets himself into the greenroom, “I can feel it in my bones, though.”  He’s wearing one of Johnny’s sweatshirts over his jumpsuit because he was too lazy to put on real clothes.

 

_Steve: Peter, if you’re sick, please don’t go into the greenroom._

_Peter: I was being facetious._

_Natasha: Well, that’s a five dollar word.  Calm down, Tony Stark._

_Peter: I can feel it in my bonessss_

“Some of the green beans are finally ready,” Wanda says, smiling him over.  Peter tucks up against her, humming when she lifts her arm, letting it drop around his shoulder before she plucks a green bean and drops it in his mouth.

 

“Oh, that’s good,” he sighs, closing his eyes as he chews.

 

“Are you actually feeling sick?” Wanda asks, “I won’t kick you out.”

 

“A little,” he admits before straightening away from her, “But I’m more just complaining about it because I can.  I’m fine.”

 

“In that case,” Wanda says, reaching for his hand and tugging him over, “I’ve been hoarding snacks.”

 

Wanda drops beneath one of the tables, and Peter grins before following her.

_Bucky: I started watching this new show, you’re all invited to watch it while Peter dies._

_Natasha: Does it have violence?_

_Bucky: Don’t be such a stereotype._

_Betty: Wanda made us watch What’s Your Number? last night._

_Wanda: It was so cute!_

_Betty: You just like it for the hot guy._

_Wanda: And that’s a problem how?_

_Wanda: We should watch PS I Love You tonight._

_Bucky: So someone blows up within the first three minutes._

_Natasha: How many seasons?_

_Sam: Better make it worth our while.  I’m sick of this one season bullshit that you keep pulling._

_Bucky: Ten, so calm down._

_Natasha: Tell me there’s a vampire in it._

_Bucky: Have you seen it?_

_Natasha: NOT YET, BUT I SAW IT ON YOUR PERSONAL DRIVE, AND NOW I’M EXCITED._

_Bucky: Um_

_Sam: FYI, Peter hacked into everyone’s drives and sent out a list of the good movies and shows._

_Peter: Guys!  I told you that in confidence!_

_Wanda: Don’t worry, I’ll handle it._

Peter looks over at her warily, and Wanda just laughs, knocking shoulders with him.  “Don’t be such a drama queen,” she says, “There’s enough of that going on around here as it is.”

 

“God, I know,” Peter groans, “Johnny’s been whining about something every day.”

 

“Bruce is in a mood, too,” Wanda says, reaching over to her side and unveiling a bag of chips.

 

“What the fuck,” Peter says, gaping at her, “How are you a real human being?  Where do you hide these things?  Do you grow them?  Are you actually this cool, or is there some lame excuse?”  Wanda beams at him, and Peter considers it a job well done.  He snatches the bag from her and cracks it open, melting under the smell that wafts up.  “And they’re the good kind,” he whispers reverently.

 

“No one else likes these!” she exclaims, excitement making her shoulders hike up, “I always had to share them with Pietro, but then, when we went for training, obviously he was never there, and I just  _gorged_  myself on them.  I had way too many.”

 

“They’re addicting,” Peter says, starting to reach into the bag when something far more interesting occurs to him, and instead he turns, fingers curling around Wanda’s jaw as he leans forward, kissing her.  She makes this soft, surprised noise, but she responds all the same, pressing back against him.

 

“Peter,” Wanda whispers, pulling away even as he follows her.

 

“I told you, not sick,” he murmurs, and he tries valiantly to kiss her again, but one of Wanda’s hands flattens against his shoulder, stopping him.

 

“The door just opened,” she says.

 

“Well,” Peter says, “That’s dumb.”

 

Wanda smiles.  “Steve usually drops by around this time.  I’ll just be a moment.”  She leans forward, kissing him softly, slowly, enough that Peter aches a little when she finally leaves, clambering over him and away from their table.

 

“Oh,” Steve says when he sees her pop up, “What were you doing?”

 

“Something naughty, I’m sure,” Wanda says, and Peter almost chokes on his chip, “They’re very demanding.”  She glances around, grabs a green bean, and then offers it to Steve as she asks, “What’s with the sour face?”

 

Steve shakes his head.  “It’s nothing.”

 

“Well, that’s a lie,” Wanda accuses, “Didn’t think you’d ever stoop so low.”  Steve sighs, and Wanda frowns.  “Okay.  What’s wrong?”

 

Steve doesn’t answer right away, instead chewing absentmindedly on his green bean.  Finally, he says, “Anything else producing yet?”

 

Though Wanda gives him a look that lets him know he can’t hide forever, she concedes and proceeds to show him around the room, talking about a few of her recent successes.  “Like I said, we’ll start seeing fruit near the end of the year,” she says when she catches him looking at the berry bushes, “Which is quite weird, actually, because I’d expect to be seeing them about now, considering where we are in the lunar calendar, but space farming is weird.”

 

“You follow the lunar calendar?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, don’t you?”  When Steve shakes his head, she lets out a loud, guffawing noise before quickly speaking to cover Peter’s subsequent muffled laugh, “Are you kidding me, Steve?  Lunar calendars make so much more sense than planting shit during a month named eleventh month.”

 

“Wouldn’t it be unwise to plant during November anyway?”

 

“Some things,” Wanda says airily, “I’m totally bummed you’re not even partially a science nerd.  Let me guess, you get excited about planets.”

 

“Sorry,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder, though it does nothing to hide his smile.

 

“You and Peter both,” she grumbles, “Oh look, a big red dust ball in the sky, but the real fun is underneath that dirt.”

 

“Geologically or biologically speaking?”

 

“Both, but definitely more geologically.  Rocks are cool.”

 

“I thought they were boring?” Steve says, plucking a green bean off.

 

“Not too many,” Wanda warns, “And they are, mostly, but they’re also pretty freaking cool when they feel like it.”

 

“When they’re fossilized?” Steve hazards a guess.

 

Wanda gives him such a look of disbelief that Steve laughs, turning away from her.  “Please,” she mutters, “When they’re fossilized.  Who do you think I am, a grave digger?  No thanks, I like them good and stoned.”  She waits a beat, and then lifts a fist when Steve’s laugh gets louder.  “Mission accomplished.  I’m going back to do naughty things.  Come find me when you’re ready to snuggle and chat?”

 

“Are both a requirement?” Steve asks, watching her drop out of sight.

 

“Definitely!” she chimes, and then she’s under a table, and Steve shakes his head when he hears a bag rustle.  She’d made a point to keep him away from the tomatoes, and he thinks he knows why—or, rather,  _who_  she’s hiding.

 

He leaves through the door leading into the lab, and is relieved to find Natasha at her desk, arguing with her laptop.  “Did it say something offensive?” he asks.

 

“I’m about to,” Natasha responds before punching in a quick code and sneering when it starts prompting several error codes.

 

“Are you trying to do something illegal?” Steve says, perching on the edge of her desk.

 

Natasha narrows her eyes, and Steve nods, looking away as he smiles.  When Nat stands, she tugs sharply on a long lock of blonde hair before making her way over to Betty’s desk.  “Are you ever going to let me fix that—mess on your head?”

 

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Steve says, trailing off as he watches her rummage around in one of the drawers.  “Seriously, how many things you have guys hidden on this ship?” he asks when she produces a popcorn bag.

 

“Oh, it’s absurd,” Nat says, flashing him a wicked grin before she goes over to their shared table, “There is more stashed food on Icarus than should have ever been allowed.”

 

This doesn’t sit well with Steve, whose smile disappears as he watches Nat cook the popcorn over a blowtorch.  “And what if something had happened when we boarded Icarus, what if something had gone awry and impacted our journey?”

 

“Steve,” Natasha says, shaking her head, “Tony designed this ship.  Everything hidden was done so safely.  If you’re going to be a brat about it, I’ll cut your hair crooked.”

 

Steve sighs.  He’s been trying to pick his battles, but lately, he feels like he’s losing every single one.  He lets this one go, too, and instead waits for Natasha to direct him to an appropriate place, drop the bag of popcorn in his lap, and get to work.

 

When they’re finished, Natasha cleans him up, looks him over, and whistles.  “Damn,” she says, reaching forward to push his hair off his forehead, “I’d do you.”  Steve rolls his eyes.

 

——

 

_October 14, 2072_

_1200 hours_

“Trajectory looks good,” Sam says, flicking his screen over to Bucky to observe.  Bucky grunts at him, ignoring the screen for now as he continues reading, his lunch stuck halfway in the air.  “Catchin’ flies over there, Barnes?”

 

“Dude, this book’s the shit, be quiet,” Bucky says, flicking his screen back.

 

“Come on, man, I need you to review and approve.”

 

“What, you going on vacation?  Calm down.”

 

Bucky keeps reading, so Sam throws one of the belts around his waist, opens up his tablet, and kills the artificial gravity in the operations console.  He looks over, and nearly bites through his lip to stop from laughing because Bucky doesn’t notice at first, so focused on his chapter.  He doesn’t get very far, just about the top of his chair, when he says, “Oh my god, fuck me, that was rough,” and starts to lean back, meaning to thud his head against the chair.  Instead, he starts to somersault backward, and he yelps, grabbing onto his lunch as his tablet floats away.

 

“Sam!” he yells.

 

Sam starts cackling.

 

“You—fucking—turd burglar!” Bucky shouts, trying desperately to right himself, but that just agitates his body into drifting farther away.  Sam is howling, clutching at his stomach until Bucky finally gets in a good rotation and throws a slow, but well-aimed kick that catches against Sam’s shoulder.

 

“Ow, you ass!” Sam whines, leaning away from him.  Bucky hooks his foot around Sam’s chair, yanks himself forward, and gives Sam a good shove before he throws the artificial gravity back on, smacking his knee against Sam’s chair on the way down.

 

“Seriously, you suck,” Bucky says, rubbing his knee before he goes to retrieve his tablet and lunch.

 

“Aw, come on, you’re no fun,” Sam teases, unbuckling and holding out a hand.  Bucky drops a cracker into his hand, though he’s still glaring at him.

 

“What do you need me to approve?” Bucky asks, marking his page before putting his tablet on the dashboard.

 

“Numbers,” Sam says, tossing the screen his way again.  Bucky looks it over quickly, finishing his lunch as he does.

 

“What is that?” he asks, zooming in on a particular set of numbers.

 

“Minor storm,” Sam says too casually, effectively distracting himself with another report he’s running.  Bucky kicks his knee, and Sam sighs.  “It’s nothing to worry about.  We’ll barely even feel it.”

 

“How positive are you?” Bucky asks.

 

“108%,” Sam says, “I’ve been monitoring it for a while.”

 

“And not including that in your reports?”

 

“Dude,” Sam sighs, sinking back in his chair a little, “You’re still having nightmares.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky says quietly, looking away.  Sam watches him for a moment, checking for any signs of impending distress, and, satisfied with his findings, turns back to his report.  “Okay,” Bucky eventually says, and that’s that.

 

When they’re done in the operations console and on their way to the flight deck, Bucky starts walking diagonally until Sam’s whining at him and shoving him away, but Bucky just leans against him and hums happily.

 

“God, you’re such a nuisance,” Sam grumbles, “What do you want?”

 

“Wanna watch that new show with me tonight?”

 

“You’re so on,” Sam says, finally giving up and looping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, “Is there blood?”

 

“And drinking.”

 

“I would literally float back to Earth if it meant I could have a drink right now.”

 

“Whiskey,” Bucky says, “Nothing else.  I’m going to spend ten full minutes enjoying my first glass of whiskey when we get back.”

 

“Ten?  You’re not gonna gulp that sucker down?  Seriously, give me a nice pint, and I’m gonna go to town on it.”

 

“Gross, just beer?” Bucky asks, looking over at him, “You have poor taste, Wilson.”

 

“Not all of us have to live up to Cap’s ridiculously high tolerance standards, Barnes,” Sam shoots back, “When we go out, there’s usually food involved, and he tones it down.  When you two go out, one of you always ends up calling me, absolutely fucking  _shitfaced_ , and then it’s,  _oh hey, Sam, wanna go rob a bank_?”

 

“I have never!” Bucky exclaims, though he’s laughing as he steps out from under his arm, “One time,  _one time_ I couldn’t find my keys, and you’re gonna keep holding that over me?”

 

“Dude,” Sam says, stopping in the middle of the hallway, “I hate you.”

 

“Oh, come on, we’re just—”

 

“You were barely even hungover!” Sam exclaims, walking again, “Who does that?  Gets so drunk they lose their keys, and then wakes up to go for a run the next morning?  Who are you?  I found it.  I found aliens, guys, and they’ve been inhabiting Earth all along.”

 

Bucky starts laughing when he notices Johnny and Peter in the flight deck, peering over at them curiously.  “I have come to eat your brains!” Bucky says, reaching up to grab one of Sam’s ears and tug him into a noogie.

 

“Oi!  Not happening!” Sam shouts, giving Bucky one good jab to the ribs so that he releases him.

 

“Brains are zombies,” Peter points out.

 

“Get the fuck out of my flight deck,” Sam says, pointing at Johnny, “It was a life ban.”

 

“I was interested in the aliens,” Johnny says even as he stands.

 

“Well, then don’t offer our dashing captain or his sidekick a drink because they will fucking throw you under the table.”

 

“Come on, at least we don’t do it when we’re out with you,” Bucky complains, shooting Sam his most pitiful pout.

 

“Shut up, whatever,” Sam mutters, dropping down at his desk.  Bucky cheers his success, going past him toward the small window at the edge of the room.

 

“Tequila’s where it’s at,” Johnny says before he leaves, and then Bucky’s yelling.

 

——

 

_2200 hours_

That night, Sam hunts down those suitable, drags them into his and Bucky’s room, and opens his arms in an exuberant flourish to show off their masterpiece.

 

“This is the noble cause my pillow went to?” Betty says, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“Listen, you’ll get it back when we’re done.  Come on, ladies, time’s a-wastin’.”

 

“He’s very excited,” Bucky says from where he’s curled up on the bottom bunk, a blanket wrapped around him.

 

“You said there were bodily explosions within three minutes,” Natasha says as she yanks open his blanket and joins him.

 

“I only watched the first five minutes,” Bucky admits.

 

Wanda stands at the edge of the bunk until Bucky sighs and coerces Natasha to move over, and then he’s trapped in between them, but then Peter’s doing the same thing, and they all rearrange themselves, grab a few more blankets, and tuck in.  Sam and Betty stretch out on the top bunk, and thus it begins.

 

Halfway through the episode, everyone starts cheering uproariously, Bucky shouts, “Preacher’s gone get some!”, and then Natasha is scrambling from the bed and demanding Bucky and Sam work out the fight choreography with her.

 

The next half hour is spent with the sound of skin striking skin until Sam has a bruise worth whining about, and they clamber back into bed to finish the first episode, which really just translates into them all passing out tangled in each other after the fourth episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy magic, we're almost done! Only two chapters left, and then we're onto year two. I honestly cannot wait until we get to the last scene of this year. Erin read it and went, "Oh, you're such a goon. They're going to hate you." HAHAHAHAHA. I love cliffhangers, that's the problem.
> 
> I had a long, exhausting weekend with no writing, but hopefully I'll get a ton done this week. Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their eleventh month of space travel, the crew of Icarus drift a little closer.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: wandamaximoff]_

_[password: witchygrooves]_

_Message Subject: I transferred to your old room for the rest of the school year._

Wanda laughs as she sees the subject line.  Pietro had mentioned doing just that over the summer, and she knew it would only be a matter of time.  She can imagine him decorating with her in mind, putting his own things up, but with a little flair.

 

When the video starts playing, he looks healthier than he has in weeks.  “Hey brat,” he says, and Wanda shakes her head, grinning, “So I just finished setting up.  Here.”  He gives her a quick tour of her old room, and then he’s leaving, and Wanda’s breath catches as he starts to walk down the hall, toward the front door.  “I thought you might like a little reminder,” he says, stepping outside and switching the camera’s face.

 

A shocking chill runs down her spine as she sees how _red_ it is.  She spends most of her time in the greenroom these days, but this—this is unmatched beauty.  It’s late in the season, and most of the leaves are gone, but she can still see the dying colors flaring brilliantly through the fading light.

 

“It’s late,” Pietro’s voice floats out as he sits down on the front porch, keeping the camera faced out, “It’s been a long day, but I’m just—pretending you’re here, and it makes everything better.”

 

He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the video, just watches the sunset, and Wanda is near tears when he finally says his goodbyes and love.  It’s more than she could have ever wished for, and it makes her ache for her home even more.

 

——

 

_November 17, 2072_

_0300 hours_

Steve has absolutely no idea how he got here.

 

He knows this—he was sitting in bed, listening to Icarus creak under the onslaught of another storm, and though severely less worrisome than the first, it still had him on edge.  He’d given the crew the afternoon off after basic duties to check the status of Icarus in preparation of a storm so small, NASA wouldn’t even grade it.  He’d spent the afternoon with Wanda and Natasha, but both received video messages that they were eager to watch, and so Steve had gone back to his room, where he tried desperately to sleep and failed, watching every hour pass on the clock until now.

 

He knows this—he’s standing outside of Tony’s door, and that alone, knowing he’s on the other side, gives him pause because it also finds him calm.  He doesn’t know when this happened, when Tony became someone that he could turn to in the dark hours when his mind wouldn’t stop haunting him, but here he is.

 

He thinks about all the times Tony has stood outside his door and been unable to knock, and so he inhales deeply and does so now.  Truthfully, Steve doesn’t expect him to answer.  It’s three in the morning, and everyone else is asleep, so he really shouldn’t even be here, but then Tony opens the door.

 

“I had this—” he says, making an aborted motion near his head.  His hands look like they’re shaking, but they move too fast for Steve to notice, and then Tony says, “I haven’t slept in four days.”

 

“I can’t sleep because of the storm,” Steve admits.

 

Tony steps aside, holding out a hand to invite him in.  Steve steps inside, and immediately looks around, taking in the overabundance of technology and _snacks_.  “Listen, I ration really well,” Tony says as he goes over to his bed, sealing a bag of something that Steve can’t quite make out and storing it in one of his drawers before he starts sorting the various electronics on his bed.

 

Steve watches him, and it occurs to him, as Tony is shutting down his laptop and pulling off his socks, that he expects Steve to do _something_.  He’s not sure what that something is, but this has happened once already, and Steve has been trying to avoid the fact that he wants it to happen again.

 

“Wanna be an insomniac with me?” Tony asks, flopping unceremoniously onto his bed.

 

Steve starts to speak, decides against it, and instead toes off his shoes, shrugs out of his sweatshirt, and joins Tony on his tiny bed, lying on his side as Tony tucks up against the wall, drawing his knees to him.

 

“You’re very quiet,” Tony observes, blue eyes flicking quickly over his face.

 

Steve shrugs one shoulder.  “I don’t—know what’s going on.”

 

“Neither do I,” Tony says, mimicking his one shoulder shrug, “But I want it to keep happening.”

 

“This is the worst idea either of us could possibly have.”

 

“Who said anything about ideas?” Tony quips, and it does the trick—Steve smiles, relaxing.  “We’re just two friends lying in bed together.”

 

“Did you always want to go into space?” Steve asks without preamble.

 

“No,” Tony says, stretching out his legs, “I still don’t.  It took a lot of convincing on Jane’s part to get me into that room, and really, it was Reed that did it, in the end.”

 

“What’d he do, say things like— _you would go farther into deep space than anyone in history_.”

 

“Almost verbatim,” Tony laughs, “When you put it like that, it starts to sound like a good idea.”

 

“Feeding the ego,” Steve says, though he’s grinning, “Why go outside so often if you don’t want to be in space?”

 

“One way to conquer a fear is to face it head on,” Tony says, and then his fingers circle Steve’s wrist, and he holds there, thumb pressing in lightly against the inner edge, feeling Steve’s heartbeat pick up minutely.  “You’re hard to read,” Tony says.  His fingers are so _warm_ against Steve’s skin that it almost makes him shiver.

 

“You’re not the first to say so,” Steve says, not looking away from his face.

 

“Bucky?” Tony guess.  When Steve lifts an eyebrow, Tony’s mouth curves into a wicked grin.  “I knew it,” he says, “I felt like there was something there.”

 

“Kind of like with you and Bruce?”

 

“Oh, that’s—that’s _old_ , older than I like to admit.  I fucked that up a long time ago.”

 

“How?” Steve asks, genuinely curious.

 

“I started getting those feeling things, and Bruce didn’t, and it was just—not good for anyone.”

 

“Anyone?  You make it sound like there was more than two people involved,” Steve says, and then immediately laughs at Tony’s face, “Okay, so Betty?”

 

“Also kind of sort of started developing feeling things, and then it just started getting messy, so I ran away before Bruce could send me away.  He still gets mad sometimes about it, though that’s usually only when I do something stupid and kiss him.”

 

“Well, that’s—stop, Tony,” Steve says, and Tony pulls his hand away.  “No, not that,” Steve says without thinking, and then—it’s like a light turns on in Tony’s eyes.

 

His smile is a little brighter when he says, “Jarvis, lights.”

 

The lights go out in Tony’s room, plunging them in a kind of darkness that leaves Steve warm.  Steve feels Tony shift, and then his foot is brushing against Steve’s, lightly, uncertainly.  “I can’t promise I’m not fucking this up the same way,” he whispers into the dark.

 

Steve breathes out a sigh that ghosts over the back of Tony’s neck and says, “That makes two of us.”

 

——

 

_0600 hours_

Steve wakes because the sun has risen in his dreams.  It’s a recurring dream of his, and one he doesn’t particularly enjoy because every time he wakes up, it’s to darkness.  He loves that NASA has given him the opportunity to travel deep into space, loves that they’re going to step out onto Europa’s surface and see _Jupiter_ nearby, loves that they’ve seen Mars and will soon see the likes of the Galilean moons, and perhaps even Saturn in the distance, but he misses the sun so much, he aches with a coldness that has settled and won’t go away.

 

When he wakes now, it’s to Tony across from him, this space between them that feels as suffocating as the darkness does.  He sighs, closing his eyes again, if only to catch a quick glimpse of the sun, and he realizes, with sudden clarity, that if he can’t have Earth’s sun, then he’ll create his own.

 

Steve digs out his phone from his sweats, moving as little as possible, and sends a quick text into the group chat.

 

_Steve: Unless it’s life-threatening, take the day off._

_Sam: You’re my favorite captain, captain._

_Natasha: Isn’t he, though?  He gets us._

_Bucky: Thanks for understanding, Steve.  You’re awesome._

_Bruce: You deserve a gold star._

_Sam: BRUCE, LEVELING UP WITH SNARK_

Steve closes his alerts, silences his phone, and settles back in, watching Tony’s shoulder shift lightly with his sleep-slow breaths.

 

Really, if he’s honest with himself, he lost this game several weeks ago, and he’s not overwhelmed with the knowledge that the sun he’s creating is within his reach.

 

——

 

_1000 hours_

Tony can’t remember the last time he slept this long, or this well, or this— _warm_.  When he slowly comes to, it’s with the absolute knowledge that he’s not alone, and, more importantly, that that damned space between he and Steve is gone.

 

He allows himself approximately one full second to panic, and then just gives up.  If Steve is done hiding, then he’s just going to let himself fall.

 

He hopes, blindly, that it’s not into a crumpled heap, a bigger mess than he intended to create.

 

Tony tucks in closer to Steve, deftly sliding a leg between his, and closes his eyes, just breathing in the scent of him, the nearness of him.  He balls one of his fists into the section of his shirt over his chest, just holding onto him, and then he feels Steve’s breath rush out over his temple, a quiet laugh.

 

“Comfortable?” he asks.

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Tony mumbles, and Steve’s laugh is a little more real this time, a little more awake.

 

He expects Steve to pose a question he’s not ready to answer, and instead, Steve’s hands press firmly against him, one at his lower back, the other grazing against his ribs.  He opens his mouth, and Steve says, “Shut up, Tony.”

 

It’s Tony’s turn to laugh now, surprised at how much Steve sounds like him.  Instead of asking the question that’s burning the insides of his throat, then, Tony says, “What do you miss most about Earth?”

 

Steve’s next exhale comes harder, and Tony shifts back a little, if only to see his face.  “The mountains,” Steve says finally, looking down at him, “You?”

 

“Donuts,” Tony says immediately, and Steve’s laugh is a fraction of a second late, but it’s there nonetheless, his eyes closing as he leans forward, trapping his happiness between them.  Tony holds his breath when Steve’s forehead rests against his, and really, all he has to do is tilt upward, but he remains.

 

When Steve settles, he asks, “Is that your favorite food?”

 

“Hell no,” Tony says, “ _Pasta_.  I miss real pasta.  Raviolis filled with four cheeses and covered in sundried tomatoes.”

 

Steve groans.  “Yeah, I could definitely inhale that.”

 

“No, you have to enjoy it, eat it slowly.  Make it last.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says, his smile widening.  He lets the silence settle there for a breath before he says, “Ground rules.”

 

“You’re making this an un-fun space.”

 

“I don’t think you can make space un-fun.”

 

“Oh ho,” Tony chirps, “Real cute, Rogers.  Ground rules for what, exactly?  You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

 

Steve sighs, this quiet exhalation of breath, and kisses him.

 

He shifts an inch closer, just enough that Tony’s mind falls silent, every thought winking out of existence, and then Steve’s mouth is against his, warm, soft, and _slow_.  It’s just a careful press of lips, just a breath shared between them, until Tony tilts up toward him, exhales, and gives in.

 

——

 

_November 20, 2072_

_2200 hours_

“Wait,” Johnny says, his hands stilling, “You literally cannot compare the two.”

 

“That’s an improper usage of literally,” Natasha says, nudging her toes where they’re underneath one of his thighs.

 

“Yes, you can!” Wanda exclaims as Johnny goes back to braiding her hair, “They’re both zombie shows.”

 

“Completely different genres,” Natasha says before she yawns.

 

“It’s funny versus scary, not comparable,” Johnny says, “Sorry.”

 

“No, but hear me out,” Wanda says, “There are both scary aspects in _iZombie_ and funny aspects in _The Walking Dead_.”

 

“Okay,” Natasha says, pushing upright, “So Rick laughed one time in season one.  It is _not_ a funny show.  And sure, Liv’s boyfriend thing was creepy when he was an actual full zombie, but it’s _not_ a scary show.  That’s like saying you enjoy guts and hate food porn, which, okay, completely different problem because people who don’t enjoy food porn are not human.”

 

“You enjoy guts,” Johnny points out.

 

Natasha flicks his ear.  “I enjoy making people’s guts hurt.  We should spar sometime.  I bet I could kick your ass.”

 

“I agree with you,” Johnny says, nodding, before he ties off the left side of Wanda’s hair.  He cracks his knuckles before beginning the right side.  “Plus, they’re different mythologies.”

 

“Exactly!” Natasha exclaims, “ _Walking Dead_ zombies are full on, all the time, rip your flesh out, eat your everything kind of zombies.  They suck.  They’re scary.  They would be a problem.  _iZombie_ zombies are full on _sometimes_ , and only stay that way if they don’t get enough brains to eat, but really, not actually a problem.  The whole _oh no the world will end_ theme doesn’t really work because it’s controllable.”

 

“Controlled apocalypse,” Johnny says, “I could dig that.”

 

“No,” Natasha and Wanda say at the same time, “Boring.”

 

“That’s my girl,” Natasha says, knocking her fist against Wanda’s shoulder.

 

“I still think they should be grouped in the same zombie genre, no subgenres.”

 

“You’re impossible,” Natasha groans, flopping backward.  She’s barely been horizontal for a second before she’s yawning again, and so she says, “Alright, chickens, I’m exhausted.  Thanks for playing.”

 

“Goodnight!” Wanda says cheerily, smiling as Natasha gets up.

 

“You’re my favorite,” Natasha says, bending over to kiss her on the cheek, “Don’t ever change.  Stop being an asshole,” she directs to Johnny, tapping his nose before she leaves them.

 

Johnny shrugs, and continues braiding Wanda’s hair.  “Where’s Peter?” she asks.

 

“I dunno,” Johnny mutters, “He said he had to help Tony with something.”

 

“Something wrong with that?”

 

“Just—pissed off with Tony.”

 

“Why?”

 

Johnny sighs, his nose scrunching up because he can’t use his hands to hide his face.  “He kind of—made a move on me a while ago, and now it’s like he’s avoiding me.”

 

“I thought you liked Peter?” Wanda says, and Johnny almost loses the braid.

 

“What?  We’re just—we—I mean— _Peter_?” Johnny stammers out.

 

Wanda laughs softly.  “Okay, so that pretty much covers it.  Peter and I have an ongoing bet that Tony’s going to hook up with Steve, so it’s safe to say that you should drop that vein.”

 

“Oh, because you’re experts?”

 

“Basically,” Wanda says, pulling away as soon as Johnny’s tied off the second braid, “Fluid about that whole sexuality thing, so we’re on track for seeing more than most people.”  She gets up, dropping onto his bed and stretching out her legs.

 

“Fluid?” Johnny asks, watching her.

 

“You know, kind of just—whatever.”

 

“You mean experimenting?”

 

“No, like—” Wanda sighs, breaking off, before an idea occurs to her, and she comes over onto her knees, curls a hand around Johnny’s shoulder, tipping him toward her, and kisses him.  It’s unhurried, just a slow press of mouths until Johnny’s trying to further things, tongue darting out to lick at her bottom lip, and Wanda pulls away.  “Do you still want to bone Peter?” she asks.

 

Johnny’s ears turn red.

 

“Exactly,” Wanda says, “And I definitely still think Nat is— _wow_.”

 

“Really?” Johnny says, mouth dropping open, “I had no idea.”

 

“I mean, have you seen her?  Not only is she beautiful, she’s smarter than almost anyone gives her credit for, and she has the best counterarguments to everything.  Half the time, I pose a question just to listen to her shut it down.”

 

“I can’t disagree with you on that,” Johnny says, and then there’s just this silence between them that he wants desperately to break.  “Can I—can I kiss you again?”

 

Wanda smiles brightly.  She knows that this is new ground for Johnny, being careful, but she also knows that he’s unsure of what this is, probably knows that there’s something going on between her and Peter, as well.  “He won’t be mad,” she says softly, and Johnny’s resounding groan makes everything that follows that much more interesting.

 

He’s like fire, moving faster than Wanda normally tries to keep up with, but it reminds her of Pietro’s quick hands, and so she switches to the side of her that sciences with her brother, leaves searing paths with her fingers and gasps when Johnny tips them backward, pressing her into the bed beneath them.

 

Johnny’s hands start to move, one roaming down her side, settling around her hip, squeezing lightly, and she can feel from the way he holds himself just above her what he really wants.  Peter’s voice drifts in through the closed door, Tony’s cutting in briefly, and Johnny quickly drops onto his back, letting out a hard breath.

 

“Shit,” he says.

 

“I told you he wouldn’t be mad,” Wanda says, looking over at him.

 

“How do you know that?” Johnny asks, staring at the bunk above him, thinking of all the times he’s woken to Peter’s hand dangling down and woken Peter by smacking it.  He smiles without meaning to, and Wanda leans over, kissing his cheek.

 

“That’s why,” she says, and Johnny covers his face.

 

He feels her get up, but he doesn’t take his hands away, instead listens to the world shift around him.  The door opens, Peter says hello to her, his voice happy and comfortable, and Johnny’s hands curl into fists, press against his eyes.  He can’t do this to him, can’t take away something else.

 

“Oh,” Peter says, his voice changing, and Johnny looks over abruptly, gaping as he sees Peter pressed up against the door, his hand curled around Wanda’s jaw, her own holding onto his upper arms, grounding them both.

 

When she steps back finally, Johnny looks back up at the bunk, and closes his eyes when Wanda says, “Goodnight, boys,” in that same cheery way.

 

“Goodnight,” Peter says, a little dumbstruck as she leaves.

 

When the door closes again, Johnny immediately sits up and says, “Dude, she kissed me.  I’m so sorry.”

 

Peter shakes his head, and Johnny watches in amazement as he deposits his things onto his desk and then comes over to sit opposite Johnny.  “She told me she was going to, said she was testing out a theory.  We’re not dating.”

 

“Then what are you?” Johnny asks, and he feels like he isn’t talking about Wanda.

 

“I don’t know,” Peter says, shrugging, not looking away, “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, tipping over onto his back again, “Me too.”

 

Peter lingers, just looking at him, before he finally sighs and gets up, climbing up into his bunk.  He shuts the lights off with a quick command, and they’re plunged into darkness.  “How was your day?” Peter asks quietly.

 

“Dude, okay,” Johnny says, and Peter doesn’t move, waiting, “I just—my dick is so hard right now, and all I can think about is you.”  He can’t hear Peter breathing above him, and that’s what scares him the most.

 

“So, I think that pretty much proves her theory,” Peter says, and Johnny dissolves into laughter.  He trails off when he sees first Peter’s hand, and then his head appear, peering down at him.  “If this is something,” he says, gesturing between them, “That’s not how it starts.”

 

“I know,” Johnny says, “I was just letting you know that’s where I’m at.”

 

Peter nods, his smile bright even in the darkness, and says, “Tell me again in the morning,” and then he disappears, and though Johnny wants to throttle him a little, he’s also immensely proud of him.

 

——

 

_November 27, 2072_

_1600 hours_

“Nat, come on,” Bucky says, jabbing an elbow into her side as he goes by.  She flinches, but doesn’t make a sound, instead content with glaring at him, arms folded across her chest.

 

“You know he’ll appreciate this,” Sam says, working his way around the table as he sets its.

 

“We’re celebrating the hostile takeover of Native Americans,” she says, “In _space_.”

 

“But Steve’s face,” Bucky says, pointing a potato at her, “Think about his smile.”

 

Natasha’s arms lower, though her glare doesn’t lower as she grumbles, “His eyes can fucking sparkle for all I care.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Sam exclaims, throwing a knife at her that she deftly avoids, plucks out of the wall, and hurls back at him.  Sam catches it and places it next to one of the plates.

 

She sets to helping Bucky cook the rest of the meal, which really isn’t much since all of it is pre-cooked and just requires some heating up.  It’s one of the few meals that they have that’s _real_ , and though Natasha is quick to admit she’s grateful for that, she’s equally ungrateful for the fact that they’re celebrating yet another American holiday.

 

“Tell you what,” Bucky says as he’s mashing the potatoes, “Give me an upcoming Russian holiday, and I’ll put it together.”  Nat looks over at him warily.  “I’m serious,” he says, though he doesn’t look up to see her expression, “Maybe we can work something Romanian into it.  I get it, Nat, I do, but—”

 

“June twelfth,” she says quietly.

 

Bucky looks over at her, his mashing stilling as he smiles.  “Okay,” he says, “Consider it done.”

 

“I want streamers,” she says, pointing a carrot at him threateningly.

 

“I promise,” he says, “Now cook those before Steve gets down here.”

 

The three of them work quickly, and they’re just finishing up when their phones buzz.

 

_Tony: Eagle’s on the move._

_Sam: Roger that._

_Steve: Honestly, both are bad._

Peter runs into the kitchen, Wanda and Johnny behind him, and they quickly take their seats, grinning and whispering back and forth with each other.

_Bruce: Did you really just try to codename talk about Steve by using eagle and Rogers?_

_Betty: Lame._

“Bruce will be right down,” Betty says as she comes in, “He was finishing up something with Tony.”

 

She takes her place at the table, looking around at everything with a bright smile.

_Steve: I resent that you think eagle is a good idea._

_Bucky: Your password is America the Brave, Steve._

_Bucky: america the brave_

_Tony: Hold, please._

“I hate you,” Steve’s voice floats down the hallway, and then he’s stepping into the kitchen, Tony and Bruce behind him, and he just stops, taking in everything.

 

“Yeah, but we love you and your stupid holidays,” Natasha says, “So Happy Thanksgiving.”

 

“Guys,” Steve says, shoulders sagging, “I totally forgot it was today.”

 

“Too busy worrying about everything else that could go wrong,” Tony says, knocking shoulders with Steve before he tugs Bruce over toward Betty.

 

“We need to take a picture,” Steve says, and then they’re all groaning at him.

 

“Is this one of your morale booster things?” Johnny asks, whining when Peter jabs him in the ribs, and Wanda pulls his hair.

 

“Be nice,” they both say, and he sighs loudly.

 

“When did that happen?” Natasha asks suddenly, looking over at them.

 

“Hang on,” Steve says, setting up the camera, “We can talk about the threesome later.”

 

A resounding howl of laughter shatters through all of them, and Steve looks over his shoulder, grinning when he sees Tony sagging into Bruce, his whole face transformed.  When he catches Steve looking, his laugh tapers away into a fond smile.

 

They’re all settling when Steve comes around behind Tony, and then they all gather around him, smiling as the camera flashes.  Steve retreats to look at it, and Tony says, “Wait, what is happening exactly?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Wanda says, waving him away, “Just a bit of fun.”

 

“Dude!” Tony exclaims, lifting a hand toward Peter, “Get some!  Good for you, man.  Finally worked things out?”  He glances at Johnny, who ducks his eyes and avoids Tony’s gaze.

 

Peter just grins and nods, though it’s Wanda that he leans into as he does, and she curls a hand around his thigh, leaning up to kiss his temple.  Behind her, Peter’s hand finds Johnny’s, fingers ghosting over his before he straightens again.

 

“Alright,” Steve says, sitting down, “Food.”

 

“Food!” Sam cheers, and that settles it.  They dig in, laughing and talking, just wasting away the afternoon being together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy magic, we only have one chapter left! Don't worry, I have a lot written of year two already. I just started the month of April, and I've only got about three scenes left before we're moving onto May. But woah, year two. It's a freaking roller coaster right out of the gate, you guys are going to yell at me, and I'm excited about it.
> 
> I know I don't usually tell you when I'm going to update, but I'd like to put a little space (ha) between year one and year two, so the last chapter for this will actually be going up on Monday, on the summer solstice, which I know is a day longer than usual, but you'll be okay. Year two will probably be up either Friday or the following Monday, I haven't decided yet.
> 
> Speaking of, the solstice is kind of a big deal for me this year around because I'm auditioning for a position at my absolute favorite yoga studio _ever_ , and though I'm not quite nervous yet, I know I'm getting there, so if all of you could send a little good vibes into the universe for me, I would really appreciate it! On an also space-related note, did all of you see NASA's video yesterday? I'm linking it [here](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjk9amxzazNAhXBdj4KHcnID3AQtwIIIjAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DA2fknqVk2yk&usg=AFQjCNFP6IwrYxULNMt7IdjYozLV40IWjA&sig2=-ehe-bxKJg5dw1RlSFUAVg) because I am just TREMBLING WITH EXCITEMENT. I am OVERWHELMED WITH JOI. HA. I MADE A FUNNY. No, seriously, I'm just--help, it's going to be amazing. That weekend, man, is going to be incredible. I'm seeing Panic! on 7/1, teaching my first ever (though not if I get this job) yoga class on 7/2, hiking a 4000 footer on 7/3, and anxiously devouring any and all news about Juno on 7/4. _Space_. This is why I'm writing this fic, you guys, because of shit like this. And now that we've reached the fun part of the romance plot in this (LOOK AT THEM KISSING!), I can tell you that last night I realized I hadn't written any romance between _anyone_ in the first three months of year two because I was just having so much fun with the space part of it because they're all such nerds, and who cares about kissing when there's SPACE.
> 
> Okay, this note is way longer than I intended, I'm so sorry. I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In their final month of their first year, the crew of Icarus tries desperately not to fall apart.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: jamesbarnes]_

_[password: redroom]_

_Message Subject: Everyone sends their love!_

Bucky smiles when he sees the sender—he knows his sister runs on almost no time, but she makes time, every month, to send out a heavy media dump, full of videos of his niece and nephew, as well as personal videos from her.  This month is lighter than most of the others, but he expects she’s been busy setting up for Christmas.  This is the first time he’ll spend it without the kids running circles around him.

 

His smile grows when not only Rebecca fills the screen, but Joshua and Amy, as well.  “Hi, Uncle Bucky!” Amy immediately shrieks, bouncing in her seat, “How’s space?”

 

“He can’t respond, silly,” Joshua says, rolling his eyes, “She’s so dumb, Uncle Bucky, sorry.”

 

“Joshua,” Rebecca says sternly, “Not cool.  Your uncle doesn’t want to hear you guys fighting.”  Joshua mumbles something that sounds similar to an apology, and Rebecca takes it.  “We’ve just finished decorating the tree, and the kids wanted to show you their handiwork.”

 

The video jerks, and then steadies when Joshua gets his hands on it, turning with the camera to show Bucky the tree.  He lets Amy point out where she hung different ornaments, and he laughs, watching her.

 

“Joshua, tell your uncle about school the other day.”

 

“Oh yeah!” Joshua says, promptly sitting down in front of the tree.  Amy comes over, pressing in against his side so that she can be in the frame.  “We talked about you in school!  It was so cool.  We’ve been learning about the solar system, and one of the other kids asked about the mission going to Jupiter, which I told him wasn’t true, and then he tried to fight me on it, but my teacher said I was right, and she asked if we had heard from you recently, so I showed them that Thanksgiving picture you guys took.  Everyone thought it was wicked cool.  I told them I wanted to be an astronaut like you, and go into space someday.  We could go together!”

 

Rebecca laughs in the background.  “Give your sister a chance, too, Joshua.”

 

“Fine,” Joshua sighs, handing over the phone to Amy.

 

“I drawed you a picture!” she squeaks, “Wanna see it?”  She doesn’t wait for a response, instead clambers to her feet and heads out of the living room into the kitchen, tapping the screen loudly before she turns the camera, and Bucky’s smile gets a little sad when he sees a crayon drawing of him next to a spaceship and a big round ball in the corner.  She turns the camera back again, grinning widely.

  
“Oh my god,” Bucky says, leaning closer.

 

“I losted a tooth!” Amy exclaims, bringing the camera closer, “See!  I can stick my tongue through it!”  She does just that, and Bucky laughs, leaning back again.

 

“Amy?” Rebecca calls.

 

“Coming, mommy!  I was showing Uncle Bucky my missing tooth.  Do you want to talk to him?”

 

“Yes, please, sweetie.”

 

Amy carries the phone back into the living room and hands it over, and then Rebecca’s back, though she’s quick to stand up.  “Stay in here, guys, mom needs a quick word with your uncle alone.”

 

“Are you going to tell him about that thing?” Joshua asks.

 

“I told you to stop going through my files,” Rebecca says, but then she’s disappearing from the room, and Bucky frowns as she goes into her own room, closing the door.  “Ever since the storm, I’ve been keeping an extra eye out, though everyone’s been careful.  They barely talk to Clint anymore, and they’re all but ignoring Peggy’s calls.  They’ve been relying on me for information because of the press pass, but it hasn’t been easy,” Rebecca says, shaking her head, “They’re hiding something.  I don’t know what it is, but when I was digging, I found these reports about anomalies on Europa, something subsurface.  A lot of it was redacted, but I got enough to know that they’re expecting you to find _something_ , not just sending you searching.  I wish I had more information for you.  I’ll keep looking.”  Rebecca sighs, shaking her head, and then Bucky watches her put on a brave face, smiling.  “I hope you have a good Christmas, and that we hear from you soon.  I love you, James.  I’ll talk to you soon.”

 

The video ends, and Bucky swears, shutting his laptop.

 

——

 

_December 4, 2072_

_0800 hours_

Something’s—off.  Bucky sees it the second he walks into the operations console.  From this angle, he can’t see much, but what he can feels strange.  Steve’s arm rests against the edge of the chair, fingers curled loosely around a mug.  He can just make out his head tipped to the side, watching Tony, who’s talking animatedly, hands moving through the air.  He’s sitting sideways, shins pressed against the armrest and feet poking out, but he’s got this grin on that looks different than anything Bucky’s ever seen before.

 

It’s disconcerting.

 

He clears his throat as he comes in, and Steve looks over abruptly, straightening away from his chair.  Bucky sees something flash across his face, and then he realizes, as Steve’s checks his watch, why this feels off.  They never stay this late in the operations console.  Steve never starts his day this late, never lets someone distract him this much.  Bucky frowns.

 

“Hey,” Steve says, “What’s up?”

 

“It’s late,” Bucky says, watching for something, anything to tell him why.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder, “Time got away from me.  How are our flight patterns?”

 

Bucky’s jaw tightens.  There it is.  It’s because of Tony that he’s here, relaxing, at ease, _not worrying_ , finally.  He tries to push down the rising anger toward Tony, and only just barely manages it.  He doesn’t care how close they’ve become, Bucky knows that he still remains Steve’s closest friend, and he tries to let that thought simmer a little.

 

“Fine,” Bucky says, “Sam sent you a full report.  I got a video from my sister last night.”

 

“How are the kids?” Steve asks.

 

“Steve,” Bucky says, and his voice is harder than he intends.

 

“Okay,” Steve says before he drains the rest of his tea and stands up, coming over, “I’m sorry.  What’s wrong?”

 

Bucky doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, but it just makes all of this worse.  Bucky inhales slowly, holds it, and lets it out as he says, “She thinks NASA is hiding something from us.”

 

Steve frowns, and even Tony looks at him, curling around the edge of the chair.  “Something like annihilation via space storm?” he asks.

 

Bucky ignores him.  “Can I talk to you alone?”

 

Steve glances at Tony, the first time he’s looked away from Bucky, and Tony shrugs one shoulder, his mouth quirking to the side.  Steve sighs, and turns back to Bucky.  “This is still the core of our crew,” Steve says, “Whatever she told you, he can hear, too.”

 

Bucky pauses, but eventually gives in, coming over to his usual seat and pulling up his personal drive.  He fast forwards through the video, ignores Steve’s question about Amy’s missing tooth as he speeds past it, and stops on the portion in Rebecca’s room.  When it finishes, Steve just keeps staring at the dark screen, arms folded across his chest, and then it happens.

 

Bucky turns, opening his mouth to say something, but his gaze catches Tony moving, foot nudging gently against Steve’s leg before he gets out of his seat, pacing away.

 

He almost, _almost_ , addresses it, but Steve beats him to it, “I don’t think we should say anything.”

 

“To NASA?”

 

“To anyone,” Steve says, “Them, the rest of the crew.  I think we should wait to see if Rebecca finds anything else.  This is too small right now.  It’s not worth it.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, “I’ll ask her to keep an ear open, then.”

 

“Cap, I’m—yeah,” Tony says, and then he’s gone, heading off down one of the hallways.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asks as soon as he’s gone.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve says, turning an innocent expression upon Bucky, and though he wants to press it, he knows this Steve, knows how stubborn he is, and so instead he just shakes his head and leaves.

 

——

 

_December 10, 2072_

_1100 hours_

_Peter: Okay, here’s a thing I miss—the rain._

_Wanda: Oh._

_Wanda: I’m sad now._

_Peter: I miss the sound it makes on the window, that feeling that literally the whole world gets when it’s raining, that you just want to cozy up and be lazy._

_Natasha: Proper use of the word literally because yes._

_Bucky: Puddle jumping with the kids after, or just running through the rain during._

_Steve: Getting trapped outside._

_Tony: That’s not fun!_

_Steve: Would you be upset being trapped outside in the rain right now?_

_Tony: Not for one second._

_Tony: Bye, going into the relaxation room._

_Bruce: I’ve already got a thunderstorm on._

_Tony: Cuddles?_

_Bruce: Don’t tell my wife._

_Betty: I’m on my way._

_Sam: Okay, threesomes aside.  The way grass smells after rain._

_Bucky: The way the world smells before rain._

_Natasha: Clint always used to drag me out into the rain and make me do something embarrassing, like kiss or dance or something equally stupid, and I just—miss it so much._

_Natasha: I miss home._

_Wanda: Cuddles?_

_Natasha: I’m in the lab._

_Johnny: You’re all so gay._

_Johnny: Hey Peter, where are you?_

_Sam: HA_

Wanda pushes open the door into the lab, and frowns when she doesn’t immediately spot Natasha at her desk.  She moves among the various supplies until she finally finds her, tucked away in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chest, temple leaning against them.

 

“I don’t know why I typed that,” Nat says softly, not looking over as Wanda approaches.  She sits on the side where her hair falls over her shoulder, knowing that Natasha needs a little emotional space, even if she’s accepting physical closeness.  She presses their sides together and leans her head down against her shoulder, closing her eyes.

 

“It’s okay to miss him,” Wanda whispers.

 

“I don’t want to,” Natasha murmurs, “I just want to think about the mission, about what’s coming next.  I just—god _damn_ it.”

 

She hears the break in Natasha’s voice, and so she quickly lifts her head and winds her arms around her, drawing them closer together.  “It’s okay,” Wanda says.

 

“Fuck this ship,” Natasha says suddenly, though she doesn’t move, “Fuck space.”

 

“I agree.”

 

“Fuck this, fuck all of it, _fuck_.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Natasha breaks a little more, hides behind her quick breaths and swallows down her sorrow until she feels a little safer in her own skin again.  She unravels from Wanda’s arms and straightens, head dropping back against the wall as she turns her gaze over to Wanda.  “Thank you,” she says, and Wanda just smiles in response, “Are you really doing this thing with Peter and Johnny?”

 

“Kind of,” Wanda says, shrugging, “We’re just seeing what happens right now.  I have yet to be with both of them at the same time, but I know that they’ve finally started admitting their feelings for each other, so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”

 

“And you don’t think there’s a possibility that they’re just using you?”

 

“Of course I do,” Wanda says, “But I’m smart enough to recognize if that’s happening.  I know Peter, and I’m starting to know Johnny.  Regardless, I’m not really looking for anything with them besides a little space fling.”

 

“You don’t mean that,” Natasha says, though she’s not sure she believes that.

 

“Yes and no,” Wanda says, “I’d like to fall hopelessly in love with two people as understanding as them, that realize that love is just this thing we fall into, blindly, and it doesn’t matter whom it’s with, but I’m trying not to hope that it’s actually them.”

 

“You sound like Tony, before all this,” Natasha amends, “He’s different now.”

 

“What was he like before?”

 

“He didn’t try to hurt people, but he always was,” Natasha admits, “I always knew there was this couple that he was mad about, that were open to trying things out with him.  Whenever he talked about it, I tried to ask him if maybe they were just using him, and then he started falling for them, and it just about destroyed him.”

 

“Did you know them?”

 

“Not until recently.  Betty told me that she and Bruce had started something with Tony, and it had all fallen apart.  The thing is, he doesn’t usually realize he’s hurting someone because he’s too busy not understanding that he’s also hurting himself.”

 

“And now?” Wanda asks.

 

“Now,” Natasha says, “Now, I don’t know.  Something’s changing in him.  I’m not sure what it is.”

 

Wanda smiles and makes a mental note to find Peter later.  “Tell me more about Clint,” she says after a moment of silence.

 

Natasha’s smile is wide and genuine when she responds, “Clint’s an asshole.”  Wanda laughs loudly, shaking her head.  “Seriously, he’s always making up shit that we just _have_ to do, and it drives me crazy.  Last year, as our anniversary was coming up, I made him swear that he wouldn’t so something absurd because, thus far, he had taken me to the most ridiculous restaurants, and one time he made us redo our vows or whatever, and he’s just— _romantic_.  God, it’s awful.  So, last year, he takes us on this adventure he calls it.  Jesus, I was going to strangle him, he wouldn’t tell me anything, and then we pull up to Six Flags.  It was the most amazing day I’ve ever had.  Every day with him is better than the last, and even when we fight, it just makes it more interesting.”

 

“So, Six Flags is your ideal anniversary date?” Wanda says, smiling at the thought.

 

“I like to leave out the part that he organized something during the fireworks display.”

 

Wanda starts giggling, and Natasha just smiles, resting her head on her knees again as she thinks about that day, and she tries to remember to tell him about this later, how close she’d felt to him, even if only for a moment.

 

——

 

_December 23, 2072_

_1800 hours_

“Okay,” Bucky says, blocking one of Sam’s punches, “I need to ask you a question.”

 

“Dude, seriously, a lot of levels of unfair,” Sam says, throwing a few wild punches to try to distract him, but it just serves to do that to him, and he nearly falls at one of Bucky’s blows, “You can’t just strike up a conversation while we’re working out.”

 

“Do you think Steve is being weird?” Bucky asks, knocking Sam’s hand out of the air and delivering a sharp jab to his ribs.  Sam grunts, throws a rogue elbow up, and finally catches Bucky.

 

“What kind of weird?” he asks as Bucky grabs his elbow and throws his arm back toward him.

 

“He just seems—off.  Like something happened.”

 

“I dunno, man.  I’m not in love with him, I don’t pay attention to the way he’s acting.  He’s my captain, I just do what he does, but a little slower sometimes.  Have you seen that kid run?  Fucking asshole.”

 

“I’m not in love with him,” Bucky counters, and okay, this was definitely not the conversation he planned on starting.

 

“Sure,” Sam says, “We’ll go with that for the sake of argument.  What kind of weird?” he repeats.

 

Bucky ignores his statement and says, “He just seems—”

 

“Happier?” Sam supplies, “Because he’s definitely been that.  He hasn’t been moping around and making sure we’re doing everything to the letter anymore, just letting us do our thing.  It’s almost like he gets it, that we know what we’re doing.”

 

This isn’t reassuring, and Bucky hates to admit that.

 

——

 

_December 29, 2072_

_2100 hours_

Steve smiles when he hears Tony pause outside his door.  They’re still doing this, a little unsure, though a little less every time, and he switches over to a private frequency before he says, “Someday, I hope you’ll just come in.”

 

“When you make me less anxious, maybe,” Tony says before the door opens.

 

Steve starts to speak, and then Tony plucks the earphone and drops it into his pocket.  “Yeah?” Steve says instead of the other things he meant to.

 

Tony shrugs one shoulder.  “My head’s a little loud tonight,” he says, coming over, “I was hoping to just spend some time with you, not Icarus.”

 

“Why do I make you anxious?” Steve asks as Tony tucks up into the corner of his bed, lying his tablet across his lap.  Though they haven’t classified this as dating, Steve’s not sure he really would anyway.  It feels like something more, moments that are more comfortable than he’s ever experienced with another person before, and though it’s a little bone-chilling to think Tony has snuck his way under his skin that quickly, it also blossoms warmth in his chest that never goes away when Tony is near him.

 

“You have—blue eyes,” Tony says, opening up a command on his tablet.

 

“As do you,” Steve reminds him.

 

“You smile with them,” Tony says.

 

Steve smiles now, taking him in.  He can see the loudness in his head in the way he holds himself, curling small as though to make himself invisible, unnoticeable, and it’s not something he ever noticed about Tony before that he always notices now, when he doesn’t feel safe in his own skin.

 

Steve shuts down his laptop, places it on the floor, and says, “Come here.”

 

Tony looks up and over, blinking at him.  It takes a moment—and a reminder to breathe slowly because this is still so new, and though he is absolutely desperate for Steve’s touch right now, needs it more than he’s willing to admit, it still terrifies him that this is happening, that he let him get this close—before he can close his program, shut down his tablet, and drop it by Steve’s laptop.

 

And then, it’s easy.  Though he wants to quip that he’s done this before, that that’s why this is no problem, he knows it’s different with Steve, it’s slower, it’s more careful, but it’s _Steve_ , and somehow that’s the part that makes this easy, being with him.

 

Tony unfolds and crawls over to him, intending to settle beside him and switching tactics halfway, pushing Steve back onto the mattress with one firm hand against his sternum before he drops down, knees tucked up on either side of his ribs.  He reaches forward, finds the earphone in his left ear, and slips it out, putting it in his other pocket.  “Just you,” he says, and Steve nods, looking up at him with those damned blue eyes.

 

“Tony,” he says quietly.

 

Tony leans down, kisses him into a different kind of silence, something warm and forgiving, something that he wants to trap inside of him so that he can carry it with him and tap into it when he’s feeling off kilter.  He kisses him like he’s gravitating toward his orbit, like he’s coming home, finally.

 

Steve reaches up for him, hands sliding around his jaw, one curling around the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair and scratching lightly.  Tony makes a soft noise, pressing closer to him, and then something shifts in the way Steve is touching him.  His hands linger, leaving a trail of heat.

 

“Steve,” Tony murmurs, trying to remain still, but then Steve’s hands are holding onto him, one against his back, the other around his hip, and Tony has barely enough time to breathe before Steve’s rolling them, mouth finding his jaw and kissing back to his ear, which he bites lightly.  Tony inhales sharply, pressing up toward Steve unconsciously even as Steve presses down into him, hips rolling fluidly into Tony’s so that he feels everything Steve is asking.

 

“Steve?” he says again, framing his voice like a question.

 

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, his breath rushing out hot against Tony’s neck.

 

“ _Very_ okay,” Tony says, “Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely,” Steve whispers, and then he’s leaning back to pull off his shirt.  Tony groans softly and quickly moves to do the same, letting Steve help him.

 

Tony can feel Steve’s heart thudding out of time as they meet again, Steve holding him carefully as he kisses him, trying to bring them back to a semblance of _okay_.

 

“Steve,” Tony says, pulling at him, anything to get him closer, “Steve, I—”

 

“I know,” Steve says, and then he’s dropping his head to Tony’s shoulder, curling closer as he buries his face in his neck.  “I know,” he mumbles.  Tony wraps tightly around him, clinging to him as he closes his eyes and just breathes him in.

 

“I don’t miss the sun as much when I’m with you,” Steve says, his voice so soft that Tony almost misses it.

 

“Fucking Christ,” Tony says, and Steve breaks, laughing into his neck before he pulls away and looks down at him.  “You can’t just _say shit_ like that, Rogers.”

 

“Stop being so—magnetic, then.”

 

“Magnetic,” Tony repeats, and he can’t stop the smile that forms, “I feel like I’m orbiting you.”

 

“Good thing we’re in deep space, it seems.”

 

“Take your pants off,” Tony snaps, though he’s still smiling like an idiot.

 

“You know,” Steve says as he gets out of bed, going over to his desk, “There was this study done about space sex, how it’s not possible.”

 

“I’m always down to defy physics and whatever shit they publish,” Tony says, tossing his pants over the side of the bed, “Plus, that study was released decades ago.  I don’t think you were even born.”

 

“I’m not that much younger than you.”

 

“Bullshit,” Tony says, looking over, and okay, Steve’s naked.

 

He takes a second to look him over, memorizes it in case this suffocates itself, and he’s back to not sleeping, but Steve says, “Stop that,” before he really can.

 

“Stop what?” Tony says, gaze meeting his.

 

“You think loudly.”

 

“I like to prepare myself for the worst.”

 

Steve comes over, dropping something by Tony’s side before he drops between his legs, hands running up his thighs.  “No more,” Steve says, taking one of his hands and lifting it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, “I’ve got you.”

 

“Okay,” Tony exhales.

 

Steve leans down, closes the gap between them, and swallows Tony’s soft moan as their bodies come together, shifting into one, like two halves finally landing in the same gravitational pull, and when Steve inhales, it’s with Tony surrounding him, his own flare of sunlight.

 

——

 

_2300 hours_

“It’s late,” Sue says, looking over at Reed, “Maybe they’re asleep?”

 

“Steve and Tony are always connected to the operations console,” Reed says, shaking his head before he tries again, “HQ to Icarus.  Come in.”

 

There’s static on the other end, and Reed swears after a minute ticks by of silence.  “I don’t understand,” Jane says, standing up, “Did something happen?”

 

“Reed?” Sue prompts when he doesn’t answer.

 

“Everything but their trajectory is coming up fine.  No system malfunctions, no communication failure, nothing in their reports.  Everything is perfect.  As stellar as space travel can be, and yet—”

 

“They need to recalculate their flight, and soon,” Sue supplies, “Or they’re going to be in for a nasty surprise.”

 

“The asteroid belt is some weeks off still,” Reed tries to reason, but even Jane doesn’t look convinced.

 

“Don’t try that with me,” she says, frowning at him, “You and I both know how dangerous it will be if their trajectory isn’t absolute.  Try them again.”

 

“HQ to Icarus.  Come in.”

 

Static reigns the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW. Like I said, there will be some space between year one and year two. I originally said maybe Friday or Monday, but I'm definitely leaning toward Monday now. (It will be called _no dawn, no day_.) This is because I've just started writing a superhusbands horror au that I may be posting the first chapter for while we wait for year two. Don't worry, it's not taking away from this. It's only going to be about five or so chapters, and I'm about halfway done with it. If you're interested in reading this, I'm warning you now--everyone dies. Literally everyone. If not, then I'm so sorry that you have to hang out with this cliffhanger for a week. I'm awful, I know.
> 
> I have had a ton of fun writing this, and even more posting it for you. Even more exciting things are coming in year two. Thank you so, so much to everyone that has left a comment. You mean the world to me. Don't forget to howl at the full moon tonight, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


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